


Exhale

by wellperhaps



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elf Rebellion, M/M, Mage Rebellion, Minor Fenris/Isabela, Not Canon Compliant, Revolutionaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellperhaps/pseuds/wellperhaps
Summary: “The mage rebellion is sort of my thing. I’ll have you know I’m a very rebellious mage. I’m sure Fenris has told you that.” That was maybe not the best thing to say to a Qunari. Nothing about this was the best of anything, so Anders didn't really care.Dorian is running from the North. Anders is running from the South. The Chargers have a job. No-one has a retirement plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon has been consulted and politely asked to leave the building.
> 
> Thank you writer_interrupted for being an excellent beta reader and a real-life agent for the mage rebellion <3  
> All remaining mistakes and oddities are mine, because I'm stubborn like that.

Anders kept on walking. His horse was trailing behind him, occasionally bumping him with her muzzle. She was good company and had cost him next to nothing. Considering the condition that she had been in, the farmer had been mostly happy to be rid of her. Anders had walked her some ways off from the farm and then spent the afternoon easing her pains with his magic. Her crooked legs couldn’t be helped, but Anders was determined to keep her healthy and pain free. 

That was why he was now walking beside her instead of riding. There had been patrols on the roads, and Anders felt it was better to stay off the beaten path. However, the terrain continued to become more difficult the closer he got to the Antivan border. It was not safe to ride here, but the mare could, at least, carry his packs. The Minanter River was not far now. Anders would have to find a safe place to cross, a bridge with no patrols or a natural crossing, shallow enough for the mare to manage. Alone, Anders would have had more options, but he would be damned to lose the horse. 

Anders stopped for a moment to fix his boot, and felt the mare’s warm breath on his neck again. He found himself thinking of Hawke’s mabari. The slobbery beast had grown on him, and Anders hoped he was alright. Anders had not heard any news from Kirkwall.

It was late in the afternoon when Anders reached the top of a hill, and saw a small cabin on the slope. It had a chimney, so it was made for someone to sleep in, but it didn’t really look like a proper home. A summer hut for a shepherd, maybe? There were no signs of life. Anders decided to risk it.

*

Dorian felt cold. Hadn’t he just been too hot? Had he kicked off his blanket? Where was it? He reached out in search of it, but his arm swung wildly and collided painfully with the wooden edge of the cot. Oh. He was not in his room in Tevinter, was he? He was somewhere else, where the air was cold, and his blanket was missing. He felt himself shiver. Oh, well. This whole experience was hardly real and would end soon enough. Dorian tried for a shaky laugh, but it did not come out right. Was he dreaming? Maybe there was a demon. A despair demon, perhaps, trying to get to him. Dorian took a deep breath and tried to focus. He should cast a ward. He opened his eyes, lifted his head a bit and reached for the Fade. It was like stepping down a stair, only to notice that the staircase had disappeared. The lurching feeling in Dorian’s stomach forced him to close his eyes again and fall back onto the hard cot. Waves of panic shook him. The Fade was not there. In its place was a slippery feeling of nausea, that he was unable to get a hold of and that was impossible to escape. He heard a wailing sound, but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t do anything but to turn to his side and curl up. He was sweating again.

*

Anders left the mare tied to a tree some distance away from the hut. He crept to a window in the back wall, and looked in through a gap in the shutters. The building did indeed seem to be a shepherd’s hut. In the dim light he could see a bench, some buckets and a small chest. Tools and rope hung from a wall next to the door. It would be easy enough to climb in through the window, but Anders was sure the door would be unlocked. There was no point in trying to keep anybody out. 

Then he heard the sound, a muffled moan. 

Oh, Andraste’s arse, what now?

*

Anders cast barriers on himself and on his damn horse, and warded the whole vicinity of the hut. Then he poked the door open with his staff. Nothing. He couldn’t hear the sound anymore, but that could just be because of the blood ringing in his ears. He stepped inside. This was exactly how they would get him. 

This is how I die, he thought, resigned. Justice was a crackling, nervous presence under his skin. His blue glow illuminate the hut. Below the window was a narrow cot, and on it a person. He was curled up in the dark corner of the room, so Anders couldn’t have seen him from the window. 

“Alright. Whatever it is, let’s just get it over with.” 

No reply. Anders sighed. He would have to go over there and see what was wrong with the person. All sorts of unpleasant possibilities came to mind.  
It only took him two steps to reach the cot. 

“Hello? Are you alive? I’m here to help.” Or not. It was infinitely more possible Anders was here to kill or get killed. Maybe best not to mention that. 

He took hold of the person’s shoulder. Shaking it only resulted in a faint whimper. The sound was human, at least. Anders took a deep breath and turned the person onto their back. 

It was a man. His dark skin was ashen and dirty. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking at Anders. At least he appeared normal enough. Anders sent out a pulse of magic, searching for the cause of the man’s illness. The resulting wave of nausea was unmistakable. And really, they were very close to Antiva.

“So, who poisoned you, huh?” Anders muttered. “Sorry. Going to have to jostle you a little.” He arranged the stranger so that he was lying flat on his back. He was a big man. Luckily, Anders had more to him than met the eye. He placed his hands on the man’s stomach, one atop the liver and the other over the intestine. After a few minutes, he had to stop and rest. This was no ordinary poisoning. Some of the substances in the man’s blood gave way to Anders’ magic easily enough, but something resisted the spell. There was a weird feeling of emptiness, like if he was pouring his magic down a drain. Shit.

“Magebane. Why couldn’t you have been some merchant who ripped off the wrong Antivan? I bet you’re from Tevinter. Well, you are my patient now, so no blood magic or virgin sacrifices allowed.”

Anders cursed himself for ever going near the cabin. 

*


	2. Chapter 2

Anders was not getting rid of his damn horse, fuck you very much. He also wasn’t going to leave her tied to a tree in case the people who had poisoned his patient caught up with him. So he led her onto a nice, secluded coppice, took off her gear and left her grazing there. Maybe she wouldn’t run.

Back at the cottage, he did what he could to make his patient more comfortable. After some hours, the man was sitting up in his cot, propped up against the wall. Anders had managed to feed him some watery gruel. His breathing was shallow, but at least he wasn’t whimpering any more. Anders placed his hands on the man and gave his healing magic another go. It didn’t take any better this time around. He decided to ignore the poisons for now and focused on stabilizing the man’s general condition. He managed to heal most of the damage to the man’s liver and nervous system, left by some other poison mixed in with the magebane. What a mess.

If Anders called on Justice, he could just burn the magebane from the stranger’s blood. That could, however, make the situation all kinds of complicated for everybody. Anders didn’t know what would happen if the spirit surfaced. The poison would leave the man’s system in due time, and Anders could help him get through it. Maybe he wouldn’t even try to kill his carer afterwards. Weirder things had happened.

  


*

  


The night passed without incident. Anders napped on the floor on his bedroll and woke every now and again to check on his patient. His fever was down. The blanket Anders had found under the cot seemed to keep him warm enough, especially with Anders gently heating the air around them. By morning the man had eaten a whole bowl of gruel and berries.

By noon Anders had undressed and washed him as well as the conditions allowed. He had also changed the man into his own spare tunic. It was stupidly tight on him. “Don’t make any jokes about my dainty figure, or I’ll drop you,” Anders warned as he was keeping his patient levitating some inches above the cot. Then he pulled the dirty sheets away from under him.

“Right. I’m going to wash the bedding and do what I can about your clothes before you're awake enough to notice me doing it. That’s less embarrassing for everybody, don’t you agree? Of course you do. I’m an excellent nurse. Don’t go anywhere.”

After some less-than glamorous use of elemental magic, Anders had managed to get the bedding and the man’s clothes clean enough. He returned to the hut with his arms full of cloth to find his patient crouched on the floor with a small knife in his hand. Great.

“Listen, friend,” Anders tried. “I know you’re confused. You reached for your magic, didn’t you? That wasn’t a good idea, not with the magebane still in your system. Sucks, I know. But drop the knife or I’m going to tell you what I was doing out there just now, with your sheets. In great detail. I’ll give you a hint: do you remember using the chamber pot recently? Don’t worry about it, though, I’ve been through worse laundry related incidents. I used to have a cat, you see. And an underground clinic. But the cat was sometimes worse.”

The man stared at Anders like one might stare at a demon. That was at least familiar. The man said something that he didn’t quite catch.

“Was that Tevene? Well yes of course it was, because I’m always right. Andraste’s flaming tits.”

“What?” the man said, in Common this time.

“Andraste’s flaming tits. It’s an expression. Drop the knife and let me get these sheets back on the bed. I don’t like standing here in the doorway with my hands full of bedding like some servant girl who caught the Bann in the linen closet with the stable hand.”

The man didn’t drop the knife, but he did close his eyes. Good enough. Anders made the bed. Then he started to gather what he needed to make more gruel.

“I’m not a demon and this isn’t the Fade. You’ve been poisoned with magebane. I’m a healer. It’s going to be alright.”

The man opened his eyes and looked at Anders. He couldn’t say the tevinter looked especially sane, but his eyes were brighter. For someone who couldn’t get up from the floor and who didn’t have any smallclothes on, he looked remarkably defiant. He was still holding onto the knife.

“Where’s your staff? No, wait, I didn’t ask that. I’m not after your stuff. Here. Have some oatmeal. I’ll also eat some so you know I’m not trying to poison you. I’m doing the opposite of that, in fact. Did I mention I’m a healer?”

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere south of river Minanter. In the Free Marches. Is that specific enough or should I get my map? It’s not very useful. I think that one lake I was trying to reach was actually just a spot of mabari drool. That stuff is like acid.”

The man let out a long sigh.

“I got out, then.”

Hmm. From where? From a prison? From the Templars? Anders offered him a bowl of porridge, very slowly.

“You can just let go of the knife. It’s a bit hard to eat porridge with it. And to be honest, you’d have just as much luck stabbing me with the spoon. I can’t really be killed with cutlery.” Whoops. He hadn’t meant to say that.

The man let go of the knife. They ate their porridge in silence. Anders helped him get back to bed, and the man slept for a bit. Anders went to check on his horse and was delighted to find it still grazing nearby. When he returned, the man was awake and looked considerably more coherent.

“You have been caring for me. You have my gratitude.”

“I’m a healer, it’s what I do. Speaking of, I want to check on you again. Is that alright?”

The man nodded, so Anders sat on the side of the bed and pressed his hands against the man’s stomach. The sickening void of the magebane was still there, but the other poisonous residue seemed to have evaporated. The inflammation to the man’s liver had already gone down.

“I wouldn’t reach for the Fade for some days if I were you. I’m not an expert on magebane, but it can’t do you any good if you keep trying and failing.”

The man gave Anders a weak nod. Maybe he would survive meeting Anders after all, at least for now.

  


*


	3. Chapter 3

The blond man, Anders, kept bringing Dorian food and helped him walk when he had to go outside. He also kept talking. The talking made Dorian wonder if it was him or Anders who had lost the use of his faculties. Was he really talking about cats again or was Dorian’s mind stuck on a loop?

Being unable to take care of himself was infuriating and embarrassing, but being cut off from his magic was horrifying. His world no longer worked like it should. It made him want to cry.

Dorian was, despite it all, slowly getting better. That meant his thoughts were also arranging themselves and the reality of his situation started to weigh on him.

A turning point in his recovery happened in a dream, where the Fade made itself known to him again. It was, of course, a nightmare, where his father’s gentle forgiveness was creeping over the landscape, slowly seeping into Dorian's room through every crack in the wall, taking over Dorian’s whole world. He woke up grasping desperately for his magic and managed to burn a tiny hole to the sheet he was clutching.

The healer was instantly at his side, ice at his fingertips.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just a dream. But look, you burned the sheets! That’s great, I suppose. Also, it’s great that you didn’t burn down the whole hut.”

“My father tried to use blood magic on me,” blurted Dorian. “I think I killed people.” The words wanted to come out, and Dorian didn’t have the strength to stop them.

The healer stared.

“Well that was very stereotypical of him. I, myself, blew up a chantry. Killed the Grand Cleric and everything. If you’re the vengeful religious sort, you should maybe also know that I’m possessed by a spirit of Justice, and there’s probably no way for you to harm me, so don’t try. Well, it would really hurt me if you did something to my horse. Don’t do that. One time they took my cat, and that didn’t end well for anybody, really.”

Something about cats again. Was Dorian still asleep after all? It certainly felt unreal. Dorian could not really listen, his mind still flooded with echoes of the nightmare.

“He wanted me to marry. He didn’t care if I was dead inside. As long as the bloodlines flowed. Always with the blood, kaffas.” The words hung in the air in front of Dorian. He wasn’t sure if he had really said them.

“Right. Again, very Tevinter of him. Come on, I’ll fix you some tea and then you can go back to sleep.”

  


*

  


The days went on, and Anders kept checking on his horse. She was wandering the hillside, curating a cautious friendship with some local deer. That was good. The weather remained pleasant. That was one thing he knew he’d like about Rivain - the weather. He gathered berries and herbs and dug around for edible roots to supplement his travel provisions. His patient, Dorian, was getting better by the day. That was also good. It was risky enough to have stayed put for so long.

“You’ll have all of you magic back soon enough. Where will you go?” They were sitting outside in the sunshine. Dorian was wrapped up in a blanket, but looked almost healthy.

He looked at Anders and shrugged.

“I do not know. I suppose I’ll make up a Nevarran name and wander around the wilderness until I find some lord or lady who I can endear myself to. I know people here are peculiar about magic, but someone in this backwater must be in need of a court mage of some sort. That should serve as a place to start. I will figure out the details later.”

Uh-oh.

“I don’t… I don’t really think you know what you’re doing, here. There’s no wandering around the wilderness as an apostate in the Free Marches. There’s absolutely no endearing yourself to anyone as an apostate in the Free Marches. The Templars will kill you on sight. Also, there’s a bit of a war going on. A rebellion. I started it. Well, not only me, but mostly me.”

Dorian pressed his palms to his eyes.

“Please. Speak less but say more. What is the situation in the Free Marches?”

*

Anders might have given a bit of a speech. Justice might have helped. Anders felt him as an electric presence behind his eyes, making him sound frantic and unrelenting. Anders couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t often that they had an audience that did not need to be explained that yes, mages were really people, or an audience who could not care less about the Chantry. He talked for a long while. At some point Dorian started to get tired and they had to go back indoors. After a short rest, he asked Anders to continue. That was, to say the least, unusual.

So Anders continued. He quoted whole passages from his manifesto. He answered Dorian’s questions. Eventually he realized he was repeating himself, and stopped talking. He felt exhausted, but also lighter somehow. He noticed his fingers had a faint blue glow. Dorian was polite enough not to mention it. They must be used to all sorts in Tevinter. Anders slumped forward in his chair and let his face rest against the cool surface of the table. After some moments, a cup of tea appeared next to his elbow.

*

It seemed to Dorian that he had traded a personally dangerous situation for an unrest on a far greater scale. The mages here were truly fighting for their lives. And this man, Anders, was claiming to be the catalyst for it all. Possessed or no, he certainly did not seem like a leader of a great rebellion to Dorian. He was dressed like a peddler. He was too thin and had a grayish complexion. He blathered on and on about animals and laughed at his own inexplicable jokes. And what was more, he was hiding in a cottage in the mountains and was not, actually, leading anyone.

Dorian had spent the last year more or less confined to his quarters. His correspondence had been limited, and issues outside Tevinter had held little interest for him. After his situation had taken a drastic turn for the worse, he hadn’t really had much time for planning. So he had launched himself into this wild escape, with no thought beyond crossing the border, any border. And that he had done, riding wildly through the mountains and into the Free Marches. His father’s men had caught up with him in a mountain passage. After that it was all very hazy. They had shot him with a poisoned arrow. Had there been combat? He did not remember attacking anyone, but he knew there had been screaming, so he must have. Maybe he had killed them all. He did remember falling off his horse at some point, then staggering to the cabin and laying down onto the cot, ready to die there.

“That is very impressive. Not many people would have managed to ride anywhere with magebane in their bloodstream,” Anders said, after Dorian had shared his story.

“I suppose it could be the necromancy. I am not very susceptible to corrosive forces.”

“Necromancy. That’s very unsettling, as specializations go.”

“Certainly. You are glowing blue again.”

Anders looked at his hands, which were their ordinary shade of grayish-pink and not glowing at all. He narrowed his eyes.

“Point taken.”

“Quite so. Anders. What is your plan? Will you look for the rebels?”

Anders hid his face in his hands.

“I don’t bloody know. I was going to try for Rivain. I didn’t know what was going on in the Circles. I didn’t think… I hadn’t planned this far. Then I started to hear news about the rebellion. They’re really going for it. They’re going to free all mages.”

They sat in silence for a while. Dorian sipped the grayish water that was perhaps meant to be tea.

“Justice is restless, but I can’t make sense of him. I can’t talk to him. I’m worried I’ve hurt him somehow.” Anders said, quietly.

“It is my understanding that spirits are most distinct when there is a need for the aspect they represent. In situations of great injustice, a spirit of Justice would be more prominent, more forceful. Maybe he is now difficult for you to reach, because the situation has become more complicated?”

“It was never easy to begin with. But what if I pushed him to go against his nature? What if… what if he’s become corrupted?”

Dorian laughed. Anders looked at him, dismayed.

“Turned into a demon, you mean? I am sure you would have noticed. What do they teach you in your southern Circles? Go to Rivain, Anders. There are people there who can help you, and your spirit. Your situation, while uncommon, is hardly unique.”

Anders sighed.

“I don’t know what I should be doing.”

  


*

Something about Anders’ explanation of the mage uprising made Dorian nervous. It took Dorian a whole day to realize why. He blamed the poisons for his uncharacteristic slowness. When he finally realized what had been bothering him, he went to find Anders. Dorian found him combing through his horse’s mane.

“If the South falls to civil war, and the Chantry is victorious, all mages will be slaughtered,” Dorian said.

“Well yes, hello to you too. That’s fucking obvious, isn’t it.”

“But if the mages survive this first confrontation, and find a way to organize,” Dorian continued, ignoring Anders, “there will be great confusion. Your mages will lack all infrastructure. You say they have lived as prisoners most of their lives. They do not know how to rule, and they will not be ruled over. Where will they look for guidance as they carve themselves a place in the world? Who will come to their aid? Who in Thedas would stand with the mages, against the White Divine?”

Anders thought about this before turning to stare at Dorian.

“They’ll look to Tevinter.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes. And Tevinter will answer their call. The mages will think of her as their savior. Anders. That cannot happen.”

  


*


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Anders had managed to catch a rabbit and was now skinning it. Dorian was sitting on a tree stump. He was not helping. To his credit, he hadn’t fled back to the cottage, either, even though the sight of intestines clearly disturbed him. Some necromancer.

“But what if…” Anders said.

“No, Anders. No.”

“Oh, is that how it is now? Not even pretending to listen to me anymore?”

“It does not matter how you attempt to spin this. The Southern mages must not ally themselves with Tevinter.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be really an alliance, more like a… a consultation? Advisors. We could…”

“Kaffas! NO. The Tevinter border is right there. If you want to go to them, you can. But you will not get my blessing.”

“The fuck do I need your blessing for?”

“I do not know! You are the one who keeps bringing this up.”

Anders let out a frustrated growl. He had no idea what he was trying to do. If he was even doing anything. Justice was still silent and unhelpful, and trying to reach him only resulted in headaches. 

“I am done talking about Tevinter,” Dorian said. “I just fled the country, if you recall. In any case, the point is moot. We are hiding in a hut in the mountains. The only audience we have is your horse, and I doubt she cares. Anders, we are hardly a political power.”

“I don’t know, I’ve found that blithering on and on to an uninterested audience about issues completely beyond your control, is an excellent way to get things done. See, one day things will get extreme enough that people start thinking that hey, the situation seems pretty bad, maybe somebody should do something. And then who will save the day? The guy who’s been gathering up steam for the last ten years, that’s who!”

What was Dorian supposed to say to that? Anders was looking at the rabbit carcass, clearly not expecting an answer. What was the matter with this man?

“You are aware that I am truly trying to listen to you, are you not? Anders?”

Anders growled again and took a rag to his knife.

“I know you are. I don’t fucking know what to do with that.”

Dorian considered reaching out and squeezing Anders’ shoulder, but decided against it. There was a dead animal between them, and some of it was on Anders’ tunic.

“I cannot advise you on that. I do suggest we form a plan. One that does not involve us having pointless conversations about a situation we don’t know anything about. Firstly, how can we find the rebels?”

  


*

  


They decided to continue north to Antiva, and from there try for Rivain. That was exactly where everyone would be searching for them, but it could not be helped. Dorian was reluctant to head west towards Orlais, because they would have to stay close to the Tevinter border. Anders absolutely did not want to go back South towards Kirkwall. Their main concern was avoiding the Templars, and that would be easier up North.

They spent some days gathering supplies, and then set off towards the river. They would follow the route Dorian might have taken. Dorian hoped they would find his staff there. He had also left the rest of his gear behind somewhere, and among them was a decent amount of gold. They would need it.

As they were ascending yet another hill, Anders’ horse suddenly stopped. Her nostrils flared.

“What is it, Good Queen Carrot?” asked Anders.

“That is not… that is not the name of the horse,” said Dorian.

“It is indeed the name of this horse,” Anders said, “and what a lovely name it is. Don’t listen to the rude man, Good Queen Carrot.”

Good Queen Carrot didn’t listen to Anders, either, but instead let out a distressed sound and reared. Surprised, Anders lost his grip on the horses’ reins. She turned abruptly and headed back down the hill. Anders opened his mouth to shout after her but didn’t have the time before he felt himself being tackled to the ground. Dorian pinned him down and held a hand to his mouth.

“Fasta vass. Stop glowing,” Dorian whispered urgently. “There is a dragon.”

Anders looked. There was indeed a dragon circling in the air. It wasn’t yet close enough to notice them. They scrambled back down the hill. They found Good Queen Carrot with her reins tangled around her front leg, but otherwise unhurt.

“I have a pretty good idea about what killed the people that were chasing you,” Anders said.

“Yes. One would think a dragon encounter would be hard to forget. I am almost sorry I have no recollection of it.”

Anders shrugged. If he could, he’d forget every single dragon encounter he’d ever had.

  


*

  


They decided to circle around the area where Dorian’s gear might be found, and hope that the dragon would leave. Some hours before sundown they found a good vantage point overlooking the valley below. The dragon was perched on top of a hill maybe half a mile away. The horse was nervous, but no longer tried to run, so Dorian figured they were safe enough.

“Maker, Dorian. There are people there, look!”

Anders was right. A small group of people was ascending the hillside, straight towards the dragon. They were too far away to make out details, but their weapons glinted in the evening sunlight. Dorian glanced at his companion. He was staring at the descending party, frowning.

“Should we warn them? They must see the dragon.”

“They see the dragon, Dorian. They’re going to bring it down.”

  


*

  


The dragon attacked the hunters just as their main group reached the valley floor. The fight lasted long into the night. The fighters clearly knew what they were doing. They had at least one mage, but Dorian could not see them, only the flashes of energy that hit the dragon and the shimmering barriers shielding the attackers. The heavy hitters occasionally retreated, only to return to the fray later with their wounds healed. They were professionals.

Dorian could not help but to feel sorry for the dragon. It was a magnificent beast. Its black scales shone iridescent whenever it was hit by a spell. It charged again and again, but the attackers were too fast and too numerous. It was starting to tire.

“Why does it not take flight? It’s a smart creature. It must know it’s going to die.”

Anders shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one run from a fight. Maybe it’s just not in their nature.”

Finally, the beast went down. Anders and Dorian started to make their way into the valley. They were, after all, searching for other mages. Dorian’s gear was also down there somewhere. Maybe they could get to it first.

  


*


	5. Chapter 5

“Alright! Alright. Fenris, you are hired.” The Iron Bull said, grinning like a madman. The corpse of the dragon was steaming next to him. Bull’s people were already carving bits off it. Fenris leaned on his sword.

“I thought it was us who had hired you,” he said.

“You are hired as our employer. Again. That position isn’t open to just anyone. Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever had an employer who went dragon hunting with me. Do you want a scale? A claw? Decide quickly before the boys gnaw the beast up.”

“I doubt that even your Chargers can claim every piece of an adult dragon. The supply wagon should be here tomorrow. I might choose a scale in the morning.”

“You should have a necklace made from one, give it to your pirate,” said one of the Chargers, a cheerful woman. Fenris didn’t remember her name.

“Perhaps.”

The whole exchange was, of course, just idle talk. The dragon scales and other valuable parts would be delivered to Briala’s agents. They would sell them or use them as they saw fit. The Chargers would only take their fair share. Fenris was tired. He wanted to make camp somewhere far enough from the stinking carcass, eat something and then sleep until noon.

“Chief. Incoming,” said Krem, the Iron Bull’s lieutenant.

Fenris turned to look. The Iron Bull raised his hand. Everybody stopped what they were doing. Two humans were approaching. One of them was dark-skinned and leading a horse behind him. The other one was lanky and blonde. Fenris frowned. Surely not? The humans got within hearing distance.

“Andraste’s unmentionables. Fenris?”

Fasta vass.

“Anders. I would have thought you were in Rivain by now.”

“Yes well. Why are you hunting dragons here in the borderlands? And with so many people! I can’t believe you’ve made this many new friends already.”

“He hasn’t. He paid us to play with him,” said the cheerful Charger.

“Well that does sound like the Fenris I know,” Anders chirped, stepping closer. The other human trailed behind him, cautiously.

“And who is your friend, then?” Fenris asked. The stranger sighed and stepped forward.

“I am Dorian, formerly of House Pavus,” he said in Tevene. Fenris felt himself tense. His lyrium flared to life. The Altus swallowed but kept on talking.

“I know of you, of course, Fenris of Minrathous and of Seheron. The death of magister Danarius was a scandal unparalleled. For that, you have my utmost respect. I have, also, left Tevinter and its practices behind.”

“Do not compare yourself to me, mage,” Fenris growled. The man paled, but didn’t look away.

“I do not. I wish only to… Kaffas. I would apologize, but there would be no point to it.”

A silence had fallen around them. Fenris knew without looking that the Chargers were reaching for their weapons. Good.

Fenris spat on the ground and turned to Anders.

“Anders. What are you doing here with that Altus? Have you already allied yourself with Tevinter? For once, I want to hear you talk fast.”

*

Anders talked. The dragon hunters listened.

“So, you're the one who blew up a building and this other one nearly blew his escape from Tevinter, huh? And now you’re looking to join the mage rebellion,” said the huge Qunari with only one eye. Had any of the Qunari in Kirkwall been that large?

“The mage rebellion is sort of my thing. I’ll have you know I’m a very rebellious mage. I’m sure Fenris has told you that.” That was maybe not the best thing to say to a Qunari. Nothing about this was the best of anything, so Anders didn’t really care.

The competent looking young soldier spoke up.

“Chief? If we’re not killing anybody right now, I’d like to set up camp. Rocky’s stomach is making sounds no person should have to listen to.”

“Yeah. Do that. Me and Fenris have this handled. Thanks, Krem.”

Anders took a deep breath and continued.

“So how difficult are you going to make this? Should we make our own campfire? Dorian is very good with fire magic, he’s been heating up our dish water for weeks. I hope that doesn’t offend you. I’m sure boiling water over the fire is very nice, builds character and all. Should we keep our own watch, or can we take turns with your people and just politely pretend not to see each other? How far…”

“Shut up,” said the Qunari. “You can join us at camp, eat our food. We’ll look for your friend’s gear in the morning. But talk less. You’re not pretty enough for it.”

Dorian, standing behind Anders’ shoulder, made a strangled sound. The Qunari smiled at him. It was very unnerving.

“The Vint can talk all he wants. But not in Tevene.”

  


*

  


Fenris left for his tent. Bull sat by the fire and kept an eye on the scruffy mages. After a consultation with Fenris, Bull had allowed the Southerner, Anders, to heal the Chargers’ various burns and scrapes. None of them had been badly injured, but a few of them would have been out of commission for weeks. Bull had to admit the healer was very good at his job. He should consider hiring one. Someone who wasn’t possessed. Damn. The company he kept, these days.

The Vint was sitting close to Anders, nervous. No wonder. The little bastard had left his comfy mansion only weeks ago. For all he claimed that he had abandoned his homeland in search of a more just society, he likely hadn’t met people like the Chargers before. Some rebel, this young heir of Tevinter. Bull wondered idly what the story was there. The real story. He would find out eventually, if the Vint managed to survive that long.

“I have a question. You are, of course, under no obligation to answer if you do not wish to,” said the Vint. He had waited for Fenris to leave before he spoke. Smart.

“I would like to know why you are here. Fenris is paying you. Why does he care about the dragon?”

“He doesn’t,” answered Bull. He had Fenris’ permission to talk about this, so he might as well. “We’re handing the dragon and the profits over to the elven resistance.”

Anders choked on his tea.

“The what now?”

“We’re working for Briala, the leader of the elven uprising,” said Ferret, grinning and tapping at her cut ear. “We are going to fucking murder every bloody shem who tries to stop us. That’s a lot of shems. A lot of shems.”

“And now that we know your fearsome plan, you are going to have to kill us, I suppose,” the Vint said calmly, sipping his tea like he was sitting in a parlor in Minrathous. Bull was a little impressed.

“Sure. But now, bedtime for rebel mages and elves alike. No murdering before I say so. Ferret, that goes double for you.” Bull heaved himself up. If the mage Anders was as strong as Fenris believed, there was no point in watching him. If he wanted to kill them, they’d wake up dead. Fenris had allowed Anders into their camp, and Bull trusted his judgment. Bull might as well get some sleep.

As he turned to leave, he heard Anders’ urgent whisper. “The elven uprising!”

  


*


	6. Chapter 6

The sun had risen hours before when the Chargers finally found their way to breakfast. Anders and the Vint had also crawled out of their tent. The Vint was staring at his food with a frown. Bull couldn’t fault him. The famous Chargers’ Mystery stew took some getting used to. Anders, however, had completely forgotten his bowl, and was gesticulating wildly with his spoon.

“The elves will need allies! If the mages go to Tevinter for help, the elves will be fucked for good! But if they go to the elves, there will be a change at victory. Mages are… I don’t know where they are, but I guess they’re still in the Circles or hiding somewhere in the countryside. But the elves are in the cities! We could… is anyone even listening?”

Fenris stood up.

“I’m going to take a piss. It is a delight to have you here, Anders.”

Some of the Chargers were shaking their heads. Ferret was grinning.

“Shems are so stupid. I can’t believe they’re so stupid. How are they even alive?”

“What is wrong with you people?” Anders shouted. He was beginning to glow. Bull decided that enough was enough.

“Hey, mage,” he said. “The elves have already allied with the mages. Enchanter Fiona is leading the resistance in Ferelden. Briala is in Orlais. And Fenris is taking care of things around here. Eat your stew. Give your mouth something useful to do.”

  


*

  


The supply wagon arrived just as they finished eating. It brought with it horses and ale. Most of the mercenaries started drinking, cheering and raising toasts to each other and to various body parts of the dragon. Dorian watched as they took turns in sitting atop the massive head of the beast.

Some of the Chargers didn’t join the festivities but saddled up instead and left to look for Dorian’s gear. They came back before nightfall, carrying various packs and weapons. The dragon had, in fact, killed the attackers and their horses. Dorian’s horse had disappeared, along with its saddle packs. They had found Dorian’s backpack and his staff, though. Dorian was surprised to have them handed back to him.

“Thank you. I am very grateful, truly.” Dorian ran his hands along the grip of the staff. Its familiar weight was comforting.

“It’s not like we’re thieves, dude.” said the mercenary who had handed his gear to him.

“No, of course not.”

Dorian sighed. Everything he said seemed to come out wrong.

Anders was talking with the Qunari. Against all his survival instincts, Dorian walked over to them. Anders motioned for him to sit down.

“Dorian. The Chargers have a base in Antiva, near Seleny. It serves as a base of operations for the resistance.”

“Well, it’s one of them. We’ll be returning there with Fenris, get the latest gossip, decide what to do next.” The Iron Bull said.

“So, your mercenary company is now in the service of the elven resistance?” Dorian asked, cautious not to anger the Qunari but intent on getting a better understanding of the situation.

“Yeah. Shit, half of them are elves anyway and no-one here has any love for the Chantry or for the status quo. It’s either work for the rebels or have most of my best people defect to them anyway. At least now everybody gets paid.”

“I notice you also have mages in your company.”

The Qunari laughed.

“Yeah, and a very exceptional archer. I have no issue with mages.”

“Fenris sure does,” Anders interjected.

“Fenris’ business is his own. He doesn’t let that get in the way of his work.”

“And you! You’re a Qunari. I’m amazed you haven’t tried to leash us yet!”

Dorian winced. Anders might fancy himself immortal, but Dorian did not. Was it absolutely necessary to anger the only people in Thedas who might offer them sanctuary?

“I’m Tal-Vashoth. You’re right to be worried about the Qun, though. All this unrest in the South. Great for the Qun. Great for Vints.”

Dorian stared. “You’re saying that if the mages had gone to Tevinter, the elves would have gone to the Qun.”

The Iron Bull turned to look at Dorian in the eye. His face was badly scarred, severe. The children in Tevinter Circles told each other horror stories where faces like his would appear from the darkness. Dorian had to keep himself from looking away.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. And they still might. The Qun is competent and patient. The mages are not. The alliance with the mages is shaky. Don’t fuck it up.”

Fenris walked over to them then.

“Anders. You must stay out of sight. We can take you to the base, but I will need your word that you will remain there. Will you give it?”

Dorian could sense Fenris’ lyrium markings, a distant electric humming. He was truly terrifying.

“I can’t just sit on my ass while people are fighting! I have to help!” Anders, naturally, didn’t seem intimidated.

“If your presence there is known, you will pull the full force of the Templars on us. And if you are left wandering alone all over Thedas, you will make any organized operation impossible. We cannot have a renegade abomination blowing people up wherever he stumbles on a Templar patrol.”

“I’m a renegade abomination again then? That’s nice, it’s good to know where I stand with your resistance that I set in motion!”

From the look on Fenris’ face, and the intensifying hum of lyrium, Dorian feared there would indeed be a fight in their immediate future.

“Our plan was to go to Rivain,” Dorian interrupted, with as much confidence as he could manage. “Anders would benefit greatly from their knowledge on communing with spirits. If we give our word that we will stay out of sight, will you send for a Rivaini seer willing to advice Anders?”

“What, so you want me to hide in a hut somewhere as well? Why did we even leave our little cabin at all? It was so bloody cozy in there and all, like being married.”

“Stop it, Anders. You are in no state to assist the revolutionaries. You must first sort out this situation with your spirit. I am certain you will be needed again, but please, let these people help you.”

The Iron Bull and Fenris exchanged a look. The Iron Bull shrugged. Fenris huffed.

“Fine,” he said. “We will look for a suitable mage. It might take time. You must stay hidden. Do I have your word?”

“Fuck you all. Especially you, Dorian, after all I’ve done for you. Fine. You have my word.”

  


  


*


	7. Chapter 7

The travel to Antiva was uneventful enough. The Chargers clearly knew the terrain. They managed to avoid all Templar patrols, but did run into some travelers who all had their own reasons for staying off the main roads, and who did not ask many questions. One time an unremarkable looking elven woman visited their camp, exchanged a few words with Fenris, and then disappeared back into the landscape.

Despite the lack of obvious hardship, Dorian found himself exhausted. The weeks of illness had left him feeling weak. The food disagreed with his palate and with his stomach. He was also not used to traveling by foot. Anders was sympathetic enough and hit him with occasional waves of rejuvenation. Anders was, despite initial difficulties, becoming more popular among the Chargers. Every night there was a line of people waiting for him to heal their various blisters and ease their old aches.

“Frivolous, healing little scrapes like that,” Anders noted, but seemed happy enough. There was no more talk about going to Rivain.

Their destination turned out to be a large functional farmstead, complete with cows, chickens and heavy draft horses. Their convoy was greeted with enthusiastic barking and whining from the herding dogs. There were people everywhere, working or just sitting around. Anders and Dorian were shown a sleeping space up on the rafters of an outbuilding.

After a few days of sorting out the spoils from the dragon hunt, Fenris approached Anders and Dorian.

“I am leaving for Antiva City. I will send people to look for a Rivaini mage for you. The Chargers will remain here to protect the farm and to wait for my orders. And so will you. If the Iron Bull feels he can use you, he may do so. Otherwise, try to pull your own weight here.”

Fenris turned to leave, not waiting for their input. Then he sighed and said:

“I will let Isabela know you are well.”

  


*

  


The farm was populated mostly by elven fugitives from Tevinter. This did not exactly make for a very welcoming atmosphere for Dorian. No-one was openly hostile, though, and that was more than Dorian could have expected. His attempts at helping with the farm work were met with sneers, however, and eventually he stopped trying. Adjusting to life at the farm was difficult for Dorian. In Tevinter, he had known what was expected of him. He had hated it, of course, but he had known. Here, it seemed his offers for help and even his attempts at making polite conversation, were considered unsuitable. He was an Altus. He did not know the routines of common life. He needed help in even the most basic tasks, but who could he ask for advice? Certainly not the other residents, many of whom had been slaves in Tevinter. If not for Anders, he would have been absolutely at sea. He tried to repay Anders’ help by assisting him in making potions, but that was hardly Dorian’s forte.

Today he felt especially annoyed with himself. In the morning he had misplaced some important root of Anders’, and by the time they found it under the work bench, it had been too soiled to use. The only thing he had managed to do that day was to locate a small mirror and shave the horror that had grown on his face. Now his mirror image at least resembled the man he knew, even if he did not feel like himself. Dorian felt useless and frustrated. For all he had previously been distressed by Anders’ confrontational manner, now that they were no longer in deadly danger, he found himself in a contrary mood. He scowled at the large raven perched on the edge of a supply cart. The damn birds seemed to be everywhere. The raven only tilted its head and stared back with unblinking eyes.

Dorian went walking, determined to find something to take his frustration out on. Perhaps a large boulder. He found the Iron Bull.

“So. The Iron Bull. What sort of a name is that?” Dorian said, walking up to face the mercenary. The Iron Bull was sitting on a tree stump. He hardly had to tilt his head to look Dorian in the eye.

“If it isn’t Dorian, formerly of House Pavus. What sort of a conversation starter is that?” The Iron Bull was mending a tear in his harness. It seemed to Dorian that the head of a mercenary company should have people to do that for him. But what did Dorian know? He was just some spoiled Altus, who certainly could not fix his own leathers.

“Fenris told us that we were to await here at your convenience. I am simply trying to find out what sort of a person you are.”

“At my convenience, huh? How do you feel about that, being ordered around by an elf and an ox-man?”

“It beats being ordered around by a family of magisters. You have not answered my question.”

“You’re not a prisoner here. You’re free to go wherever. There’s no need to be so fucking prickly.”

“Is it because of the horns or is that too obvious? Perhaps your family simply found you bull-headed.”

The Iron Bull laughed at that.

“Listen, Altus. You’re pretty and all. I like the moustache. If you want to fuck, we can do that. There’s no need for any weird Tevinter courtship rituals.”

Dorian stared.

“Truly! I assure you, I do not consider…” Dorian started, but found himself too stunned to continue.

He turned around and walked away.

*

  


Dorian spent the following days avoiding the Iron Bull. Antagonizing him had been a mistake, that much was obvious. He only hoped the man would laugh it off and forget about it. Surely the whole sorry exchange had been in jest, anyway. Dorian did not know much about how these things were carried out outside of Tevinter, and he knew even less about the practices of the horned race. If one were to be attracted to a human, surely not to one from Tevinter.

Tevinter courtship rituals, truly! Dorian knew enough about those, about subtle glances, about lips lingering a moment too long on the rim of a crystal chalice. He knew about finding empty guest rooms. He knew about well-manicured hands of noble men and about the scent of their hair oil on his thighs. No doubt the Iron Bull would find all that very weird indeed. He probably bedded people in his tent while traveling, with his mercenaries right there on the other side of the canvas walls. There would be no scented oils, no careful whispers, no avoiding each other after. The Iron Bull would just press people up against trees and tavern walls, not bothering to smother their moans with his huge hand.

I like your moustache, he had said. If you want to fuck, we can do that. Just like that, in the clear light of the day, where anyone could hear. Dear Maker, what were these barbarians like. That could not be the common way to go about things.

Were humans and the horned race even biologically compatible? Dorian had certainly never heard of a qunari child with a mixed ancestry, whereas humans frequently married elves and dwarves. Of course, that was not the issue to be considered here. Not that there was anything to consider at all. No, it had all been a joke, a way to one-up Dorian.

Dorian felt like he needed to clear his head. Exercise would help. He walked to the stables with the intention to do some pull-ups on the stall rafters. To his misfortune, the Chargers were training outside the barn, led by the Iron Bull. The sunlight gleamed on his silver skin, damp with the exercise. The Iron Bull heaved his axe with ferocious speed. In motion, he was truly terrifying. He looked quite like the beast Dorian’s countrymen would make him out to be. Dorian considered turning around, but that would have been too obvious. And silly besides. The Iron Bull was concentrating on his duties and he did not have time to make fun of Dorian. Dorian held his head high and went to do his pull-ups, resolutely facing away from the yard.

  


*


	8. Chapter 8

One morning the routines of the farm were interrupted by bad news. Scouts brought word that there were a large number of Templars patrolling nearby. The Iron Bull called all combatants out for a briefing. A group of archers were to go watch over the Templars and attack them if they got too close to the farm. The few mages at the farm were to team up with some of the Chargers and take defensive positions around the farm. They would take care of any Templars that managed to avoid the archers.

“You know how to cast barriers, right?” The Iron Bull asked Dorian.

“Certainly. I’m also excellent at offensive spells. However, I am not a healer like Anders.”

The Iron Bull nodded.

“You know how to defend yourself, then. That’s good. You’ll go with me.”

“This is all a little unnecessary,” Anders noted. “I could just go and fry the bastards.”

“You are under strict orders to stay out of sight. You stay in the main house with the non-combatants. And don’t fight me on this. You’re a hard hitter, so you’re our last line of defense. If there are casualties, I’ll send them to you.”

“Fine. Just don’t send them to Dorian. He’s a necromancer.”

The Iron Bull shuddered and rolled his eye.

“Fucking Vints. Alright. Let's call it.”

Ferret let out a distinct cry, mimicking the sound of some unknown bird. Around the farm, people were suddenly in motion, dragging out roadblocks and driving wagons into formation around the buildings. In a few moments, the farm was transformed into a stronghold.

The Iron Bull led Dorian some ways away to a vantage point from where they could create a two-man ambush on the narrow road. They would most likely be spending some time cooped up together behind the rocks and the bushes. Dorian decided that talking would be less awkward than moping in silence.

“You have done extensive planning. Have you been on this farm for long?”

“Six months or so. It’s a good spot. We intend to keep it. There were really no problems before the Kirkwall incident. It was just elves working on a farm, who gives a shit about that? Now the Templars are crawling everywhere. So far, we’ve managed to fend off two patrols and make it look like they died somewhere else. We planted false documents along with the bodies, claiming that this area is clear. I hope these bastards are just on their way to somewhere else.”

“You sent Ferret with the archers. Do you believe she will let the Templars pass?”

The Iron Bull laughed.

“You’re a quick thinker. You should talk strategy with Krem sometime. He won’t say it, but I bet he’d like to talk in Tevene. And nobody sends Ferret anywhere. Except maybe Fenris.”

“Why do you never answer anything I ask you?”

“Why did you leave Tevinter?”

“Fuck you, the Iron Bull.”

“That reminds me of a question I did answer. Although I’m not sure it was a question you asked. You noble types like to make things complicated.”

Dorian huffed. Maybe silence would be better, after all.

They ended up spending all day lying on the ground, listening for any sign of conflict. The Iron Bull seemed to have trouble staying in the same position for long. He adjusted his leg brace from time to time and grunted in discomfort whenever he moved.

“You should let Anders take look at that. He is an exceptional healer.”

“Yeah I’m not really into letting demons poke around in my leg, thanks.”

“Do not be daft. It’s a spirit. A spirit of Justice of all things. From what Anders says, it is the spirit of this whole revolution, as it were.”

“This whole revolution is fucking nuts.” The Iron Bull was leaning against a rock. He looked genuinely weary. What was it like for a Tal-Vashoth, to come from the order and purpose of the Qun, into this chaotic reality of rebellions, corruption and uncontrollable magic?

“I left Tevinter because I refused to live a lie. I would not marry and would instead pursue my change at happiness with someone I loved. I cannot do that with a woman. My father took objection and tried to magic me into obedience. Now, why did you leave the Qun?”

“Shit. You’re a hard hitter, as well. I’ll tell you some other time. Over some tankards.”

*

In the end, the Templars went on their way without incident. The Iron Bull sent scouts trailing after them, but the immediate danger had passed. The next day, the archers took their tension out by going hunting. They came back with two deer. The Chargers decided this was reason enough for a celebration, and Dorian was given the honor of lighting up a small bonfire. The deer were roasted, and ale caskets opened.

Dorian was sitting on a long bench next to Anders. A red-haired human mage and her elven husband had overcome their distaste for Dorian in order to approach Anders. They were from Kirkwall, and more than a little drunk. The mage was leaning on the wall, staring down at Anders.

“You saved us all. We’re all fucking terrified of you, man, but you saved us all,” she said.

“She was in the Gallows for two years,” the man said. “Listen, I was sure I would never see her again. When I saw the explosion, I thought, this is it. One way or another, this shit is now over. I ran through the streets the whole night, looking for her. And then there she was, out on the docks. Alive. We ran, met some other people on the way. We have been here for two weeks now. These people, Ferret and everyone, they’re keeping us safe. I never thought… I just never thought. I think we could stay here.” His voice broke, and he took a drink from his tankard.

The mage squeezed her husband’s hand, and then they left to sit with their friends. Dorian looked at Anders. He was staring at the ground.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Justice… Justice is content. At least I think so. Usually I feel like there’s an electric storm behind my eyes, just waiting to happen. Now he feels calmer.”

Dorian had really wanted to inquire about the particulars of Anders’ condition for some time now, but this was probably not the time. Instead, he lifted his tankard towards the bonfire.

“To those who light fires.”

Anders smiled faintly. He wasn’t drinking.

*

A quiet mood had overtaken Anders. At some point he wandered off to bed, leaving Dorian alone to nurse his empty tankard. Of course, this was when the Iron Bull decided to make an appearance. He brought with him a huge pitcher of ale and a plate filled with various bits of deer.

“Hello, Dorian formerly of House Pavus. I believe I promised you a drink.” He filled Dorian’s tankard and sat down next to him. The bench wobbled.

“No, the Iron Bull, I believe you promised me an answer.”

“Sharp. I’m drunk, or trying to be, so you'll get your answer. And you’re right, I do owe you one.”

The Iron Bull took a piece of meat from the plate and ate it before he continued.

“The truth is, I don’t really know why I left the Qun. That’s the thing about life outside the Qun. You never really know why anything happens. You have to figure it all out for yourself, and if you can’t, well, you just have to make shit up and believe it. I spent a long time in the South, as a spy for the Qun. I gave my knee fighting for some noble in Orlais. Lost two fingers to a dragon in Ferelden. Fuck, she was gorgeous. My eye for Krem. I don’t know, the South just took too much of me, slowly. I didn’t have anything left for the Qun. I didn’t even notice until it was too late.”

Dorian hummed.

“You gave a lot to the Qun and then you gave too much to the South. I have never given one bloody thing to Tevinter.”

“Good. That’s something I can always drink to. To not giving one bloody thing to Tevinter!”

They raised their tankards and drank their golden Antivan ale. Dorian smiled. This whole affair was utterly ridiculous. The bonfire was crackling and warding off the coolness of the night to his left. The Iron Bull was sitting on his right, also radiating heat. He spilled beer on his chest and wiped it off with his three-fingered hand.

“Kaffas. Do you ever wear shirts?”

Bull laughed. For such a menacing figure, he did seem to laugh often.

“Not if I can help it. Don’t really see the point. Hey, look, that was a question and I answered it.”

“Will miracles never cease,” muttered Dorian. He might be getting a little drunk, and more than a little restless.

“I want to go sit by the stream. I’ll get my cloak, since I am pampered and not used to the outdoors. I also need you to bring me more ale,” he said and got up.

By the time Dorian had taken a piss, found his cloak and made his way to the side of the creek, Bull was already there waiting for him. He offered Dorian a flask, but to Dorian’s surprise it was filled with water. Dorian gave him an accusatory glance. Bull shrugged his massive shoulders.

“There’s more ale. Just drink some water first.”

“Fine. Does your kind even get hangovers?”

“Yes. Not from watery ale like this, though. I need to really work on it to even get drunk.” To emphasize his point, Bull took a huge drink from his tankard. Dorian decided to stick to water for now.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the stream glimmer in the moonlight. Dorian thought about summoning a wisp to get more light but decided against it. Wisps always attracted mosquitoes. Instead, he prodded Bull’s arm with his elbow.

“Do you always proposition people like that? Just tell them, why, your appearance is not entirely intolerable, how about a tumble?”

Bull snorted into his ale. It took him a moment to recover.

“I like you, Dorian. You’re funny. It’s my turn to ask a question.” Instead of asking anything, he took Dorian’s flask and drank some water himself.

“Yes? What is it?”

Bull turned to look at Dorian. He lifted his hand to cup Dorian’s face. His face was really very close.

“Do you do kissing in Tevinter?”

Dorian swallowed. Not that much, to be honest. Time was often of the essence.

“I suppose I could stand to do more of it.”

Bull smiled. From this close, the scarring that pulled at his lip was really prominent. Dorian traced his finger over it. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Bull’s. They kissed for a long while. Dorian’s neck started to protest from having to tilt up to reach Bull. Dorian absolutely refused to climb into Bull’s lap, so the only thing to do was to push Bull down into the grass and lay down next to him. Bull went easily, let himself be handled by Dorian. His hand roamed Dorian’s back and eventually settled on his ass. It didn’t feel like escalation, more like Bull was asking a question. Dorian sighed against Bull’s neck. He did not know the answer to this one. They were close enough to the bonfire that they could hear the occasional whooping of the Chargers. Still, it was unlikely they would be seen. Even more unlikely that anyone should care. Was this something Dorian wanted to do?

“I… I am not entirely sure I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s alright. It’s getting cold out here. How about we go back, and you go sleep it off?”

Bull was stroking his face, gently. It felt odd. Dorian sat up.

“I am not that drunk. But yes, let’s get back.”

It seemed no-one had noticed their absence. Dorian thought about going back to the outbuilding that he shared with Anders. The thought didn’t appeal to him.

“Where do you sleep, Bull?”

“Got a room above the granary. All to myself. I think no-one wants to share with me. They claim I snore.”

“Slander, I’m sure. You are such a delicate man. I find myself unwilling to end the festivities just yet. Do you play cards?”

“Yeah, sure.”

  


*


	9. Chapter 9

  


Bull’s room had a high, slanting ceiling. The warm, pleasant smell of grain floated in the air. He felt an undercurrent of excitement, being in The Iron Bull’s space like this. Charting new territory. To his amusement he noticed that Bull’s bed was actually three regular beds pushed side by side, with a board nailed to their legs to keep them together. Dorian lit the oil lamp with a tap of his finger.

“Practical. Nice to see magic used like that, like it’s just useful.”

“Yes. There is no need to make one’s life more difficult out of some misguided principle. Maybe you will think about it the next time your knee gives you trouble.”

Bull made an amused sound but did not reply. Instead, he rearranged the furniture, so they could sit across each other with the small table between them. Bull sat on his bed and Dorian took a seat on the sturdy bench. Bull dealt the cards.

“You know how to play Heist Palace?”

Dorian did not, but Bull was a good teacher. The game required a good deal of skill and had delightful and deliberate opportunities for bending the rules. It was an Antivan game, after all. The cards looked tiny in Bull’s huge hands. He handled them with purposeful, precise movements that made up for his missing fingers. Bull won the first round, and the second one. By the third, Dorian’s competitive instincts had kicked in, and he very nearly came out on top.

“Well played. Maybe one day you’ll even win,” Bull said, leaning back with a smug expression. His horns nearly scraped the ceiling.

“One day we might play a game I am familiar with. Maybe you will even learn the rules.”

“A Tevinter game? I already told you, I don’t like those.”

“It’s because they are too subtle for you. You are, after all, a mercenary, more suited for brute force than the refined games of high society.”

Bull cocked his head. “Well. That is a game I know. The delicate noble and the brutish mercenary. Is that what you’re looking for, here?”

Dorian swallowed. Was that what he was looking for? It must be. After all, here he was, having invited himself to The Iron Bull’s bedroom. It was not usual for Dorian to be so insecure around these matters. It was just that the Tal-Vashoth was so different from everything he knew. Dorian was used to pushing pretty nobles to their knees. There was no pushing The Iron Bull anywhere. Still. He found himself curious.

Dorian stood up and circled the table to sit next to Bull. He put his hand on Bull’s arm and squeezed at the muscle there. How would it be, letting himself be pinned by The Iron Bull? Dorian was not a small man, but Bull’s arms were as thick as Dorian’s thighs. He smelled good, like bonfire smoke and the grass outside by the creek.

“And is that a game you yourself enjoy?”

“Sure. I’m good at it.”

“Of that I have no doubt. And I do believe it was me who started this.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. You can stop it any time you want to. Just say the word.”

Dorian felt like there had been a lot of talking already. He felt good, light-headed and impatient. He bent his head and bit down at the junction of Bull’s shoulder and bicep.

“Unhand me, you brute.” Dorian said, muffled against the flesh of Bull’s arm. Bull laughed and lifted his hands that had been lying innocently on his lap.

“If I startle you, will you zap me with some weird spell?” Bull asked, running his blunted nail down Dorian’s arm.

“No. I’ll have you know that no mage can graduate from the Minrathous Circle without… oh!” In a heartbeat, The Iron Bull had him flat on his back on the bed. His other hand was bent behind his back and the other was held down by Bull. For such a large man he was terribly quick. Dorian took a deep breath to orient himself and became very aware of Bull’s leg between his own. Alright. He tried twisting his hips but couldn’t move very much at all.

The Iron Bull moved against him. Dorian felt surrounded and overwhelmed. He wanted to stay right where he was, only it wasn’t enough. He did not quite know what to do.

“You can fight me if you want, pretty mage. It won’t make any difference.” Bull’s voice rumbled through him, low and menacing. It went straight to Dorian’s cock.

Well, then. Dorian squirmed a little, testing Bull’s hold. He managed to move his pinned hand higher to make it more difficult for Bull to hold his balance. He tried to push his leg against the mattress to shift Bull’s weight to the side. It didn’t work at all. Bull made an approving noise anyway and moved so that his knees were bracketing Dorian’s hips.

“I see they teach you something useful at your fancy Circles. Are you used to wrestling with the nice noble boys? I bet you won. I bet you were disappointed.”

Dorian wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but then Bull bent down to bite and suck at Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian cursed and fought back against him, but it was like fighting a mountain. Bull had him.

“Are you trying to get away? Or do you want more?” Dorian growled and turned his head to bite at Bull’s lip. It turned into a kiss that left Dorian panting. Bull eased his hold enough so that Dorian could get his hand out from under his back. Dorian grabbed hold of Bull’s horn and yanked him in for another kiss. Bull hummed against his mouth.

“You’re pretty strong. I like that. But not strong enough to stop me.”

Bull’s hand was trailing down Dorian’s side but hadn't yet found its way inside Dorian’s tunic.

“To stop you from what, exactly? From kissing me? Dreadful. Or are you planning on falling asleep on top of me? That would indeed be a terrible fate.”

Bull pressed his face against Dorian’s chest. It took Dorian a moment to realize he was fighting back laughter. Then he rolled off Dorian, still grinning. It was a good look on him.

“For fuck’s sake, Vint, just take your clothes off. We’ll play games some other time.”

“Truly! I thought you said you were good at this. For a horrible brutish mercenary, you are awfully chipper. But fine, I’ll get undressed, as long as you do the same. I cannot stand the sight of those trousers for another moment.”

Bull took off his boots. Then he stood up and, without further ceremony, let his pants drop to the floor.

Ah. There were indeed some differences in anatomy. Dorian stared for a while. Then he sat up and started to take off his own clothes, carefully. He kept his eyes on his task even when he felt Bull sit next to him on the bed. He got up to hang his tunic on the back of the chair.

“You okay there, Dorian?”

Dorian turned to Bull. He was smiling, but Dorian thought his question was genuine. He didn’t know if he was okay, exactly. He was a little terrified and terribly aroused. He was also a necromancer, with comprehensive training on handling one’s emotions and pushing through any initial discomforts. He was not made skittish by aspects of anyone’s anatomy, thank you very much. He stepped closer to Bull and smiled.

“Damn. You’re beautiful. Come here.” Bull took Dorian by the hip and guided him to stand between his legs. He held onto Bull’s horns and Bull bent to kiss his stomach. It occurred to Dorian that he should maybe have asked about the horns. Maybe touching them was considered impolite. Bull didn’t seem to mind. He licked at Dorian’s skin. His hands were kneading Dorian’s ass. Dorian concentrated on breathing.

Bull stood up. He let his hand trail over Dorian’s erection.

“Get on the bed.”

Bull manhandled Dorian until he was lying on his back with his hips on the edge of the bed. Bull crouched down on the floor and lifted Dorian’s leg over his shoulder. He bent down to lick Dorian’s cock. Dorian covered his face with his arm to keep himself quiet. After a moment he felt a gentle kiss on his thigh.

“You don’t have to be quiet here if you don’t want to, Dorian.” Bull’s voice was rough. “No-one minds. I want to hear you.” Bull sucked Dorian’s cock into his mouth. Dorian wasn’t particularly small, well, not compared to most humans, but Bull didn’t seem to have any trouble when Dorian started to thrust. Instead he hummed around him, pleased, and let Dorian set his own pace. Dorian decided, hazily, that his life was baffling enough already, and getting made fun of by the Chargers and the whole elven resistance hardly mattered anymore. So, he let himself moan and curse out loud as Bull let him thrust along the length of his tongue. Dorian knew that even though his leg was pushing firmly at Bull’s neck, and his hand was pulling at his horns, he couldn’t really hold Bull down. Dorian was free to tilt his hips up and push deep into Bull’s warm mouth. Bull moaned around him. Oh.

It didn’t really last terribly long. When Bull’s hand cupped his balls, Dorian came with a shout. Bull didn’t pull back but instead held on to the point of discomfort. Dorian whimpered.

Afterwards he lay there, not really noticing the world around him, until he felt Bull’s hands around his legs, lifting them onto the bed. He rest his head on Bull’s pillow as Bull settled himself next to Dorian.

“How are you doing?”

Dorian let out a shaky laugh.

“I cannot complain. You are very good at that.”

“I like it. Thanks for letting me hear you. It was hot. Can’t say I’ve had many people curse me in Tevene under these conditions, though.”

“Kaffas. Don’t ruin it.” In truth, Dorian didn’t feel his mood could be ruined very easily. Bull’s body was a warm presence against his side. Dorian turned towards him and sat up to straddle his thighs. Dorian ran his hand down Bull’s chest, over the various scars.

“There is really terribly much of you, isn’t there.” Bull hummed, crossed his hands behind his neck.

Dorian let his hands follow the scars lower, over Bull’s soft stomach. Bull’s cock was resting against his thigh, heavy. Dorian cradled it with his hands. It felt familiar enough. Perhaps the skin there was slightly thicker than Dorian’s, but that was true about Bull’s skin in general. He was difficult to hurt. Dorian circled the head of Bull’s cock with his thumb and delighted in the way Bull’s breath hitched. After a moment, Bull was fully hard and pushing into his hands.

“Yeah, fuck, you’re so good. Just like that.”

Dorian had a feeling Bull might require a bit more time than Dorian had needed. Dorian was fine with that. Being completely naked with someone, in their own bed, without the fear of being found out, was quite nice. The low sounds Bull made were very rewarding, and his massive qunari cock felt excellent in his hands. The effort was very much worth it.

After some time, an impulse overtook him, and he rearranged himself, so he could lean down and taste the tip of Bull’s cock. The taste was different, metallic somehow. He wrapped his lips around the head the best he could.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck Dorian. You’re gorgeous. Dorian, please.”

Dorian, feeling properly appreciated, kept his mouth where it was and started to work his hand along Bull’s length. He needed his other hand for balance, which was a shame because one hand was only barely enough for the task. Bull did not seem to have any complaints. He was making low sounds, not loud but intense. Bull had to be concentrating a great deal to keep his hips steady. Dorian hummed, and pushed his tongue along the underside of Bull’s cock.

Bull came with a shout. Dorian had no chance of riding it out. Instead he let his cheek rest against Bull’s hip, and grinned as he felt warm liquid trail down his face. His hand was soaked. There truly was terribly much to the Bull.

*

After they had recovered enough to clean up, Dorian started to get dressed.

“It’s almost morning. You can stay if you like.” Bull said, nonchalantly. Dorian thought about it. Why not? Anders was a light sleeper and Dorian did not really feel like waking him up. He would most likely have something intolerable to say about Dorian’s absence.

Dorian had, of course, slept close to other people before but curling up naked between the sheets with Bull was utterly different than sharing a tent with Anders. It did not seem like the sort of thing adult men did. Dorian didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Bull resolved the issue by pulling Dorian close to him. Dorian decided to go with it. He wrapped his arm around Bull and let his head rest against his chest. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

  


*


	10. Chapter 10

In the morning Dorian left the Bull sleeping, or, more likely, pretending to be asleep, and made his way to his own quarters.

As it turned out there was no avoiding Anders’ commentary. To Dorian’s misfortune, the healer seemed to be in an extremely good mood. He followed Dorian, grinning and whistling, while he went to get breakfast from the main house. Dorian took his plate and his cup of tea and fled outside in order to shake him. That was a mistake, since it only meant Anders could catch him alone.

“So!” he said, biting into his apple. “Was it that Rivaini farm hand? The one who cares for the horses? I need to know if the tattoos go where I think they’re going. No? I don’t think it was one of the elves. No offense, but I really don’t think they’d go for you. It’s all the Tevinter.”

“I told you, I do not know what you’re insinuating.”

Anders threatened Dorian with his apple.

“I can _see_ that thing on your neck. Either Ferret finally decided to bite you, in which case you’d be dead, or you did the horizontal shimmy with someone.”

Dorian suppressed the urge to pull at his collar.

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Oh? Wasn’t it a shimmy? More like a slam? A pounding?”

Dorian groaned. He did not have a hangover, but his head was starting to ache all the same.

“If you tell me, I’ll heal the bruise. It’ll take a week to fade otherwise. Have the Chargers seen it yet? That would be bad. I’m sure you get my meaning. Come on. The scout with the scarred arm was looking at you, but it couldn’t have been her. That’s good, because I want to annoy whoever it was and she’s too scary. Hot though. I think scars are hot. Do you think scars are hot?”

Dorian felt his cheeks flush. Kaffas.

“You do! So, it was more like a pounding and there were scars.” Anders bit into his apple, but then stopped mid-chew. “Maker. No. You didn’t! You did! You did the nasty with the Iron Bull. The big fat qunari with only one eye!”

Dorian didn’t think he’d ever seen Anders so happy and hoped he never would again.

“Dorian, I am so proud of you! I’m so proud I won’t even ask you for dirty details. I’m not sure I could handle it. Now, gimme.” Anders reached out and wiggled his fingers. Resigned, Dorian pulled back his collar. The cool flush of Anders’ magic was familiar to him at this point. The faint ache in Dorian’s shoulder faded. He tried not to be disappointed by that.

  


*

  


After a while Anders got bored and left Dorian to his unnecessary but endearing embarrassment. Really, who would have known Dorian had it in him? Anders went back to the outbuilding and rolled up his sleeves. If Dorian could bed the Iron Bull and live to tell the tale, Anders himself should certainly find something fun to occupy his time with. Justice was still calm, and doing something useful would help him stay that way.

When afternoon rolled around, Anders was still arranging the miscellaneous knick-knacks from the outbuilding’s bottom floor into crates and piles. It would take some doing, but with a decent clean-up and some rearrangement, the space would make for a decent clinic. The Chargers had a medic, and many of the elves had decent skill in patching each other up. But since Anders was here, why shouldn’t he do what he did best? After all, Fenris had told him to make himself useful. Anders contemplated hanging a lantern over the door, just to see the elf’s face when he saw it.

“What are you doing, banging about in here?” said Ferret, who had appeared in the doorway without Anders noticing.

“Cleaning. This will be a clinic.” Anders straightened himself, ready to defend his plan against whatever Ferret might have to say.

“Oh. Great. Why isn’t anyone helping you? Is the other shem afraid to get dirt under his pretty Vint nails?”

“Um, I haven’t asked him. Or anyone. I can handle it.”

Ferret rolled her eyes.

“Sure, but there are almost a hundred people around here. You’re a healer, we need a healer. Just fucking ask someone.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Anders did not actually need to ask anyone. Soon after Ferret left, a few people showed up to help, apparently sent by Ferret. Among them was Arryn, the Rivaini man who cared for the horses. Anders chatted with him a bit about how Good Queen Carrot was doing, and offered to take a look at a lesion one of the draft horses had.

The volunteers had left for dinner, when a scout dropped in.

“There’s a letter for you.” The scout held out a tattered envelope that had clearly been rolled and folded many times over. Anders took it, suspicious.

“Who’s it from? Who brought it? I want to talk to them.”

The scout snorted.

“Like I’d tell you, shem.” Then they were gone.

Anders sat down and opened the letter.

“ _From the Commander of the Grey, Hero of bloody Ferelden._

_To Anders, of Calenhad Circle, of the Grey Wardens of Amaranthine, lately of fucking Kirkwall:_

_What the fuck._

_I thought we were friends. I would never explode anything without you._

_Please advise,_

_Mahariel._

_P.S: Would explode something with you again.”_

Anders stared at the letter, and barked a laugh. He felt waves of emotion rolling over him. There wasn’t much he could do to stop them.

Dorian found him sitting there some moments later, crying into his hands. He sat next to him and, cautiously, wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

  


*

  


Later that evening the Iron Bull called Anders into a meeting.

“So,” said the Iron Bull. “The Hero of Ferelden is telling you she’d like to blow stuff up with you.”

“You read my letter? You had no right to do that!” Anders’ indignation was met with unimpressed stares.

“Your letter found its way into the hands of the Chargers. We have informed Ferret of its contents, as she is acting as Fenris’ next of command.”

Anders glanced at Ferret, who hissed at him. She couldn’t read, then.

“Your letter has, at this point, traveled all across Southern Thedas through the hands of countless operatives,” said Krem, dispassionately. “Mahariel must have known that would happen when she sent it to the Mage’s collective. By doing so she has, effectively, declared herself an ally of the mages. She is also a Dalish elf and a vocal advocate for elven rights.” Anders thought that Krem had a really nice voice. Perfect for delivering bad news. Anders wondered at what point that would happen, and braced himself for impact.

“Warden-Commander Mahariel is also a close personal friend of King Alistair of Ferelden. Even more importantly, she is one of the few people associated with the Chantry agent known as Sister Nightingale, or the Left Hand of the Divine.”

“The fucking hero of Ferelden wants to blow stuff up with you! Why did you blow stuff up without her? Unbelievable! This whole shitshow could have been over already if you’d played it smart! And I thought you clearing out that junk all by your lonesome was stupid! Do you not like other people?” Ferret was furious. For some reason, Justice didn’t react to the threat.

“Well why haven’t the elves gone to her then, if she’s so important? Don’t yell at me if you don’t have any friends, it’s not my fault!”

“We have! Fiona has sent her people to Amaranthine. Or that’s what I heard and that was months ago! It’s fucking hard to get any news from down there. Your letter only just arrived and it’s a wonder it didn’t end up in the bottom of the Waking Sea.”

Anders thought about this.

“She’s been trying to make things better for the elves since the Blight ended. So it’s possible that Fereldan mages and elves are already backed by Mahariel’s Wardens.”

“Can she do that?” the Iron Bull asked. “Wouldn’t she need permission from Weisshaupt? I hear the Wardens don’t do politics. Openly, I mean.”

Anders laughed.

“She doesn’t ask permission. It’s not really her thing. If she’s with us, she’s with us all the way, and so is King Alistair.”

Ferret stared at him with her eyes wide.

“Fucking shit. Bull, you were right. We have Ferelden.”

Ferret launched herself at Anders and, to his horror, wrapped her arms around his neck. It took a moment for him to realize that she wasn’t trying to kill him, but that he was, in fact, being hugged.

  


*

  


To Bull’s dismay, the news spread through the farm like wildfire. The Hero of Ferelden, the symbol of freedom to elves everywhere, had personally told the mage Anders that she was down to wreak havoc.

Fenris returned some days later, with Isabela in tow. They heard the singing long before anyone but the scouts had even noticed their return.

  


*


	11. Chapter 11

Fenris’ and Isabela’s return was greeted with enthusiasm. They were charted off into the main building for food and rest, and their gear was taken for repairs. When their people deemed them rested enough, Bull and Ferret met them for a briefing. Anders and Dorian were not invited. In fact, they were so busy setting up Anders’ clinic, they were not even aware of their arrival until much later. Anders was cataloging the various bottles of potions when he heard a familiar voice.

“So! I see you survived. And you’ve found a pretty friend.”

“Isabela! Maker. I’m so glad to see you.”

Anders stepped into Isabela’s arms, and held on tight. Her hair smelled familiar. It was wonderful.

Isabela used her personal brand of magic to persuade Anders, Dorian and Krem into playing cards with her. They sat on the outbuilding’s (clinic’s, this was a clinic now) floor. Anders was the only one unfamiliar with the rules.

“How is it you’ve never played Divine’s derriere?” Isabela asked. “It’s the best party game I know. Well, unless you count the ones where people lose their clothes. Didn’t we play this in Kirkwall?”

“Don’t you know any games with normal names?” Anders complained.

“I know this game as Archon’s arse,” said Dorian, unhelpfully. Krem gave him an affirmative nod, and frowned at his cards.

*

Dorian did not remember ever enjoying a non-magical game this much. Isabela was cheating blatantly, and Dorian figured she was being obvious about it as a matter of courtesy. Dorian liked Isabela. Dorian also liked Krem, who carried himself in an uncomplicated, gentlemanly manner. He was really very charming, but no difference, Dorian would beat him in this game all the same. Dorian slammed a card to the floor in front of him.

“Archon’s... Kaffas. Divine’s derriere.” Or perhaps not.

Krem clicked his tongue. Isabela laughed.

“No dice, Vint, we’re playing the Southern way. You have to sing a song for us now.”

Anders whooped.

Dorian was only saved by the appearance of Fenris and the Iron Bull.

“Have you been plotting, boys? I told you not to plot without me. Come, play,” said Isabela, and motioned to the floor. There was really no room to seat the Iron Bull.

“Nah. Your man only just woke up from his nap. I was hoping to talk to Dorian, in fact.”

Where Fenris was, Dorian did not want to be. He left his cards on the floor and got up.

“Certainly. Fenris, if you wish to play, you are welcome to my cards. There’s quite a lot of them, I’m afraid, but I wish you luck.”

*

Bull led Dorian to his room. Dorian leaned against the doorframe.

“Is this a clumsy attempt at seduction or did you actually want to talk to me about something?”

Bull sat down on the bed.

“Yeah. See, we like you. Well most of us do. But we can’t trust you. You’re smart, so you know why that is.”

Dorian sighed. He did know. His previously good mood was fading, now being replaced with a sense of dread.

“Yes. It is a terribly unlikely coincidence, is it not? A politically unimportant Altus denounces his homeland and is injured during a daring escape attempt. He is found, infirm, by the only person in the whole North who would be sympathetic to him and able to get close to the people in charge of the resistance. If you ask Anders, he’ll even tell you it was my idea to go looking for you people. I haven’t slept with him yet but then I might be saving that for an emergency. And I did sleep with _you_.”

Dorian looked Bull straight in the eye. Bull nodded.

“Yeah, you’re smart alright. Smart enough to be a spy, smart enough to show your hand like that. That’s what I would do. Have done.”

“I take it seduction is off the table, then. What did you decide, with Fenris and Isabela? Am I to be executed or simply wrapped up like a present and delivered to the Templars. I might kill a few. That would only be a perk for you. Maybe you should make it look like I heroically fell in battle, to stop Anders from taking offense. Is that why you took me to that vantage point? See if an opportunity presented itself?”

“Shit. Slow down. We’re not going to do that. I’m only talking to you now because we don’t actually think you’re a spy. Ferret is pissed, because she wants to take you on as a combatant, and she can’t since we don’t know for sure.”

“I am not having anyone do blood magic on me to make sure.”

Bull got up and took hold of Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian considered slamming him with force magic, but he didn’t think Bull would try to hurt him, not really. If that were his intention, he’d have been smarter about it.

“Dorian. Listen. There will be no blood magic or anything else like that. Nothing has changed. You’re not our prisoner. If this operation was run like it should be, we would never have brought you here. But it’s not. It’s being led by sentimental, idealistic fools, whose whole deal is believing the best of people.”

“And you are with them.”

“And I’m with them.”

Dorian sighed. He wanted to believe Bull was sincere, and that Dorian could still stay here.

“So you’re only telling me this because… why? Because you wanted to be honest with me?”

Bull gave him a crooked smile. He was still holding on to Dorian’s shoulders.

“I wanted to have this out on the open, yeah. And to see what you’d do. If I’d find anything out.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if you did.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t. I gotta say, if you were a Tevinter spy, this could be an epic story of deceit and seduction. I fucking love that you don’t play dumb with me. Mind like yours, really gets me going.”

Dorian laughed. Why was everything involving the Iron Bull so absolutely ridiculous?

“You said it yourself, you can’t know for sure. How would you play that one, then, the foreign agent turned freedom fighter and the cunning Tevinter spy?”

Bull rubbed his thumbs on Dorian’s shoulders, finding skin.

“So, you’re up for another game even after my shitty mercenary act?”

“I might be. You’ve caused me terrible trepidation and I am in need of stress relief. If not for Isabela’s brandy, I would be a nervous wreck by now.”

“Isabela doesn’t think you’re a spy, either, just so you know. She thinks you cheat at cards the way an honest person would. I trust her judgment.”

“Oh, so the card game was not just because she wanted to enjoy my delightful company? Wait, how do you know what she thinks? You didn’t have a change to speak with her.”

Bull did not answer, but smiled in a most unnerving manner.

“You’re smart, Vint, but she’s smarter. Remember that. Now. What was that about relief?”

  


*

  


There was no more talk about spies, or mercenaries for that matter. Dorian simply started to remove his clothes, and Bull did the same. Then he found himself pushed back against the wall. Bull had him by the hips, and was mouthing at his neck.

“Don’t, ah, don’t mark my neck. If I ask Anders to heal it again I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So that’s what happened to it. Maybe I should mark you somewhere else, then. Later. Wrap your hands around my neck.”

Dorian did. Bull grabbed his ass and lifted him until his feet didn’t touch the floor. There was nothing for Dorian to do but to wrap his legs around Bull’s hips and hold on. His cock was trapped between their bodies. Bull didn’t seem to have any trouble holding him up. His hands were kneading Dorian’s ass, and his fingers occasionally slipped to interesting places. So did his cock.

“Ah, Kaffas, Bull. Yes.”

Bull grunted, adjusted his grip and then just carried Dorian to bed. After some kissing and being delightfully tossed around, Dorian ended up on his front, with his ass in the air and Bull’s oiled cock between his thighs. It was all kinds of excellent.

“Do you know how good you look? Did anyone tell you that in Tevinter? You’re fucking amazing.” Dorian opened his mouth to answer, but managed only a weak moan. Bull’s slick thumb was circling between his buttocks. His cock was pressing against Dorian’s. The feeling, combined with the intensifying pressure from his thumb, was somewhat terrifying.

“Can we… I want to. I don’t know if I can,” he managed. Bull seemed to understand him. He squeezed Dorian’s ass in an oddly comforting manner.

“Yeah, not today. I want to fuck you, but I want to do it right.”

Dorian huffed a laugh.

“I do imagine it is a bit of an endeavor.”

Bull hummed and pressed his thumb inside. Dorian let out a shout.

“Yeah, but you’re worth the effort. Fuck, look at you. You’re worth every effort.”

  


*

  


Bull ended up taking him apart with his fingers and his mouth. It seemed to go on forever. Dorian could do little else than hang on, clawing at the mattress. At some point he wondered if Bull was getting anything out of it. The man was so terribly patient. But Bull kept on, sometimes moaning into his skin, like Dorian was doing something to him just by laying there and taking it. When Dorian finally came, it hit him by surprise. He spilled into Bull’s hand, gasping for breath. Bull didn’t seem to take this as a cue to quit. Eventually Dorian couldn’t take it any more and had to tell Bull to stop. He lay gasping into Bull’s pillow for a long moment, Bull’s tongue lapping at his hip.

When Dorian turned around, Bull sat back on the bed, looking almost as dazed as Dorian felt. He was still hard. Had he stayed hard throughout? Dorian smiled at him. Bull had, indeed, managed to calm Dorian’s mood quite a bit.

“Right. I’m going to suck your cock, and I want you to come all over my face. Feel free to pull my hair when you do.”

Bull muttered a curse in Qunlat, and let Dorian have his way.

  


*

It was only early evening, so Dorian had no reason to linger at Bull’s room. This time Dorian’s return to his own quarters was made worse by the fact that Isabela was still hanging around the clinic with Fenris. At least Krem had left at some point.

“A good talk then? Did Bull get his… point… across?” Anders leered. Dorian hated him.

“Ooh, I wish I could have been there. I could’ve learned a thing or two. I hear the Qunari give their agents very thorough training in the art of… interrogation. There’s a lot to be said for a systematic approach.” Dorian hated Isabela also.

“Fasta vass. I do not want to hear about it.” Fenris, on the other hand, was not really all that bad.

“Not that this building isn’t yours to enter as you wish, but why are you still here?” Dorian asked.

“We were fighting with Anders,” Isabela informed cheerfully. “He thinks you’re not a spy. We also think you’re not a spy, but when I said we don’t really have any proof of that, Anders got mad. You know how he is. Fenris says he wants to throw you off a cliff, but he says that about almost everyone. Especially Vintish humans.”

“I do not want to throw Krem from a cliff.”

“Yes, very magnanimous of you,” said Anders. “Nobody’s a spy and nobody’s falling off a cliff. Also, I’m traveling to Denerim.”

“You are not. You gave your word. Your presence there would make reaching a peaceful solution impossible. How is it that you cannot understand this?”

“Also, that’s not what we’re fighting about today. Fenris, I want to take another nap. Come on.”

“Is that code for sex? Because the Iron Bull was just talking about waking Fenris up from his nap, and that makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Goodbye, Anders. You can keep the brandy.”

  


*


	12. Chapter 12

Dorian was not let into the inner circle of the resistance. Nor did he want to be. The people working on the farm had, however, warmed up to him a little. Dorian suspected this was mostly Anders' doing. People now came to him for help, sometimes. It made him happy to figure out magical solutions applicable to life on a farm. It was an interesting challenge. He had also formed a general idea of the workings of the resistance from the scraps of information he was trusted with. The elves of the far South were constantly under threat both from the oppression of the nobles and the abuse of the commoners, and the situation of the mages was chaotic everywhere. Life had always been better for elves and mages in Antiva and Rivain, and that was evident on the farm. The farm did hold its fair share of people trained and willing to engage in combat, but its main purpose was to provide and organize resources for resistance fighters elsewhere. Revolutions were hungry work.

The main force of the elven resistance was in Val Royeaux, led by Briala, Empress Celene’s former companion. The resistance’s goal was apparently not to gather armies and overthrow governments. Instead, their agents had infiltrated the courts and other seats of power all over southern Thedas. They were playing people into position, so when push came to show, no-one with real power would have much to gain by opposing them. The mage rebellion had thrown the elves for a loop, though. Briala had been quick to ally herself with First Enchanter Fiona, based in Denerim. Dorian did not claim to understand the dynamics between the elves and the mages, but he suspected that had Fiona not been an elf herself, no alliance would have been possible at all.

They were still waiting on news, but they had to assume that situation in Ferelden was unstable. Anders still wanted to meet the Warden Commander there, to assist with negotiations. He was absolutely not allowed to go. Isabela assured him that they would soon find a seer to help with Justice and threatened him with all sorts of embarrassing and unlikely consequences if he’d break his word. After a few days of moping and fuming to Dorian, Anders accepted his fate. Dorian wondered if he would’ve really wanted to travel all the way to Ferelden and face the uncertain conditions there, after having just escaped to Antiva. After all, if Anders really didn’t want to stay, nobody could force him.

It soon became clear to Dorian that Fenris was not really a leader in the practical sense of the word. He was mainly a figurehead, a beacon for fugitives from Tevinter. He didn’t always take part in strategy meetings. Instead he spent a lot of his time sleeping and avoiding people who might want something from him. Isabela, on the other hand, was the true leader of the Northern operation. She was the admiral of their navy, such as it was, and her people ran smuggling operations and relied communications.

“I have seven ships now! Seven! In Kirkwall I had zero ships. That’s the best part about revolutions, you get to have all sorts of toys. Do you like ships, Dorian? Do you like toys?” Isabela leered and rolled her lip piercing around with her tongue. Dorian wasn’t entirely sure if she was still putting on a show to distract Dorian into revealing information, or if it was just her way. Either way, he found Isabela delightful.

“Certainly. We play all sorts of games in Tevinter, with all sorts of toys. I admit I don’t know much about ships, but I’m pleased to inform you that our sailors are especially skilled with ropes.”

Dorian was rewarded for his efforts by Isabela’s vibrant laughter.

“I’d show you a rope trick or two but, alas, that wouldn’t be fun for anybody,” Isabela sighed. “Mostly because Fenris would be sad and then you would be dead.”

“If you two have to flirt in my clinic, you could at least be helpful and do inventory on the potions.”

“Anders, baby, you haven’t used any potions because there are no patients. And don’t lie to me about healing the animals. I know you’re just hanging around the stables to ogle at Arryn.”

“I bet Arryn knows about ropes. Those draft horse harnesses look awfully complicated.” Dorian mused. Isabela poked his shoulder with her finger.

“I like you. If you’re a spy, I’ll kill you quickly.”

“I will have you know that I have been hanging around the stables because the mouser had kittens. Three of them, a grey, a darker grey and a grey with little white spots below her chin.”

“Yes, Anders, we know,” Dorian said. “You’ve told us that several times already.”

“But don’t get any ideas, you can’t go visit them yet. They’re not old enough. When they start moving around more I’ll introduce you. I have so many names thought out! Do you want to hear them?”

“Right, if you wanted me to go, you could’ve just said so. See you around, Dorian. Goodbye, Anders.” Isabela ruffled Dorian’s hair on her way out.

*

After Isabela had left, Anders seemed to deflate. He sat down to the bench opposite to Dorian.

“So. I don’t know if I should be telling you this,” he started.

“Then don’t. I have no wish to hear your secrets. My standing here is uncertain enough as it is.”

“To the Void with that. It’s just that there was news from Kirkwall. Some time ago, actually.”

Dorian had only a hazy idea of what had went down in Kirkwall. He knew that Anders had caused an explosion to prevent a mass murder. Other than that, the rumors circling the farm were mostly contradictory, and did not interest Dorian overmuch.

“There was also a letter. To me. A personal one. From Bethany. Hawke’s sister. It took me some time before I could actually read it.”

Dorian did not know who these people were. He suspected that was the reason he was the one Anders was talking to.

“What does she write, then, that has got you so upset?”

“I’ll show you.” Anders reached into his breast pocket and produced a worn letter. Dorian took it and read it out loud.

“My Dear A. I hope you are safe and well. I am. We have been busy. Ask I for details, but in case this is the only letter that reaches you: G and V have taken over KW. I’m having talks with F’s friends. M is around somewhere, away from walls, sends letters, is connected. We’re going to fix it. V is difficult. Old man, change, you know. I have it handled. G is impossible, angry with himself. Too messed in the head to write to you. Does alright on the throne, for a dog lord. No cleric, no circle, no Templars. No other military allowed except A.V.

That should cover it. We do miss you. You should hear the way people here talk about you. No, not like that, I mean to make you smile. The ones who know what happened call you their hero. You are my hero. I would be dead if not for you. G knows that. I miss you, but I hope you never come back here. I’m glad you are with friends. I’m sorry we didn’t help you. We’re trying to help now.

I hope you are happy.

Yours, B.”

Anders laughed, strangled.

“The only thing I really took from this is that Kirkwall has dismantled the Andrastian institutions. Will that not anger the White Divine?” asked Dorian.

Anders waved his hand, dismissively. Something Dorian was not to know, then.

“I can’t stop thinking about Hawke and Varric ruling Kirkwall. Hah. Seneschal Tethras. Well it was always like that between them, wasn’t it, Varric keeping him from drowning in his own bullshit. Andraste’s arse. I hope the whole city falls into the sea.”

“But that is not what you’re upset about?”

“I didn’t think they’d want anything to do with me. But first Mahariel and now Bethany. Isabela. And Fenris didn’t kill me on sight. Maker. Listen, could you go bother your mercenary or something? I need to have a moment. Maybe scream a little.”

Dorian had to admit he did not quite understand the situation. He got up and handed the letter back to Anders. Then he leaned down to give him an awkward hug. Anders hugged him back.

Dorian went to bother the Iron Bull.

  


*

  


Dorian found Bull at the stables. He was sitting around talking with Ferret and Arryn, the tattooed horse master. Ferret was shuffling playing cards.

“Good afternoon, gentlefolk. I have been forced to vacate my own home, again.”

“Take a seat,” said Arryn. “Your cat-loving friend threw you out?”

“Indeed. It’s really for the best, there is only so much elfroot one can inhale without getting turned around.”

“Yeah, that explains the both of you,” Ferret said. “Hey, mage, if you’re not busy chopping herbs, you should start training the baby mages.”

“Excuse me?”

“There are some new mages wandering around here, came from Starkhaven or something. They’re just kids. I don’t want them to get possessed or whatever the shit it is they do. You’re not possessed. Train them.”

Dorian glanced at Bull. Bull looked like he wasn’t paying attention. Was that a bad sign?

“Very well. If that is what is needed of me. Is Fenris aware of your request?”

“Like I’d go over his head to talk to shems. Fuck you.”

“Quite so. And here we were having such a nice time.”

“We still are,” said Arryn. “Ferret, you have the cards?”

Dorian did, indeed, have a nice time. Without Isabela around, he even won a few rounds. The weather was hot, but Dorian did not terribly mind, since the heat had inspired Arryn to take off his shirt. His tattoos were quite exquisite, accented with a peculiar golden color that looked tremendous against his dark skin. Dorian was sure Arryn had not always been a farm hand. But that was of course true of the lot of them.

Arryn slammed his cards down.

“I win.”

Dorian sighed.

“You do. A good game. I’m glad I managed to hold my own against you for so long. These ruffians certainly didn’t stand a change.”

“Hey,” Bull protested. “You lost the last round to me.”

“Did I? It has been such a terribly long time since you dropped out of the game. I simply forget everything that came before.”

Arryn laughed.

Ferret got up.

“Yeah, I have actual work to do. Later.” Then she was gone.

Arryn stood up and stretched his back. Farm work could certainly do wonders to a person’s physique.

“I’m off as well. See you around.”

Bull and Dorian were left sitting on their rickety benches.

“So. You liked holding your own against Arryn, hmm?” Bull leaned back on his seat, looking amused.

“Certainly. I do appreciate a man with a firm grasp on the situation.”

“That’s awful. Let’s go to my room.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. But it had been some time. He saw no reason not to comply.

  


*

  


Bull’s room, then, with Bull facedown on the bed. Dorian sat on top of him, straddling his thigh, and pushed, hard. Nothing much happened. He pushed again, with both hands, putting his weight into it. Bull only grunted.

“Kaffas, Bull, your back is a mess. Do you not do any stretching?” Giving a massage to Bull was hard work. It was giving Dorian cramps. The muscles of Bull’s back remained rock hard.

“May I use heat? At this rate I’ll hurt myself before I get anything done, here.”

“What, like magic heat?”

“Yes, like magic heat, what else? Maybe even a localized barrier to keep my delicate fingers from breaking. Don’t be so bloody difficult.”

Bull was quiet for a while, but eventually relented.

“Fine. Just be… never mind. Go for it.”

With the careful application of magic, oil and determination, Dorian managed to loosen up the worst kinks in Bull’s back and shoulders. To make matters more fun, they had gotten rid of their clothes. The oil accentuated the metallic shine of Bull’s silvery skin. It was lovely, as was the way Bull’s ass moved under Dorian. His cock was getting interested. Dorian had, however, a task to finish. By the time Dorian was satisfied with his work, Bull had gotten over his anxiety about the proximity of magic and was lying on the bed loose-limbed and content.

“Come here, Dorian.”

Dorian crawled to Bull’s side and let himself be pulled in. Bull’s arm was a solid weight across his shoulders.

“That felt great. Thanks. You’re right, I should do more stretching. I bet Arryn knows how to stretch.”

“Hmm? What does he have to do with this?”

“You like looking at him, don’t you?”

Of course Dorian liked looking at Arryn. What did Bull care? Was this a test of some sort?

“He is lovely, yes.”

Bull hummed.

“Have you thought about taking him to bed? He has clever fingers. Nice laugh. I bet you’d like that.”

“And what is it to you?”

Bull squeezed Dorian’s shoulder and yawned.

“It’s hot to think about, that’s all. You with him. He’s younger than you. Maybe he’s never been with a man before. Do you think he’d be nervous?”

So, this was the game they were playing. Very well.

“I should think so. A big man like him, he might think he has a certain role to play. Would I make him prove himself, do you think?”

Bull’s lips moved against Dorian’s hair when he spoke.

“I think you’d be nice about it. You’re prissy as hell but you’re never mean. I think you’d want to make it good for him, ask him what he likes. You’d make sure he leaves your bed feeling good about himself.”

Dorian huffed at this odd analysis of his character.

“And what would our lovely Arryn like, then? Would he like to pin me down like you do?”

“Nah. He’s a gentle lad. He’d ask if he can kiss you. Once he starts, he won’t want to stop. You have great skin, smooth. He’d want to taste you everywhere.”

Dorian nuzzled closer to Bull and pressed his nose against Bull’s neck, licked at the skin below his scarred ear.

“Go on.”

“I bet he was hard the moment you said yes to him. By the time he’s kissing your stomach he’s fucking hurting. But he wants to be good to you. He wants to know what it’s like to suck your cock.”

Dorian had, himself, been hard for some time now. He adjusted his cock against Bull’s hip. Bull was rubbing his fingers against Dorian’s shoulder, very lightly.

“If he knew what you look like when you come, if he had that image in his head, he wouldn’t last. He almost doesn’t. It’s the taste that gets to him. You taste so fucking good. Then it’s your fingers in his hair, another thing he didn’t know he’d like. He has a nice mouth. Full lips, same as you. Do you want to hold him down, keep him on your cock? He’s a big lad, he can take it.”

Dorian groaned and reached for his cock, but Bull took hold of his wrist. He flipped them, so that Dorian was flat on his back, Bull’s thigh over his. Bull’s cock rested against his hip. Dorian struggled lightly against Bull to get friction but didn’t try to use his free hand. That wasn’t the game, now.

“Patience. You can come when he does. Talk to me now. He’s sucking you off. Would you hold him down?”

Dorian cursed.

“Yes. He wants to feel me take him, wants me to fuck his mouth. But I won’t. I keep him still, make him suck only what he can reach. I make him want more.”

Bull grunted, moved his hips.

“Shit, yeah. He’d want more alright. You’re so fucking gorgeous. He’d lap at you with his tongue like if you’re candy. He’d moan around you when you come. Look at him, your come on his tongue, on his lips. He’s looking at you like you’ve given him a gift.”

Dorian whimpered. He needed to move, to rub his cock against something. He couldn’t. Bull reached down, but didn’t stroke him, only circled the head of his cock with his thumb.

“You’re so good, Dorian. Tell me about his cock. Do you want to taste him?”

“Ah, fuck. Yes. His cock is lovely. Lean. Not too big. I could just swallow him down. If I did he’d come right away, and I want him to fuck me. Please, Bull.”

Bull moved his hand to cup Dorian’s balls, ignoring his cock again. Dorian keened.

“He’d have you just like this, on your back, so he could watch your face. You’d be ready for him. He’s strong. He can just lift your legs up and push into you. It’s almost too much for him but he’s trying to last, he doesn’t want it to end. He looks at you moving under him and he thinks, what did I do to deserve this? You’re perfect, Dorian. He never wants to look away.”

Bull moved his leg away from Dorian, freeing his hips. Finally, finally he closed his hand around Dorian’s cock. Dorian bit his lip to distract himself from the sensation, but it was no use, since Bull was working his hand now. There was nothing for Dorian to do but take it.

“Fuck, the way you look. You are a gift. Come on, Dorian, give it to me. I have you. I have you.”

Dorian came, without making a sound, his hips arching off the bed. Bull guided him through it, his hand slick with Dorian’s cum. When Dorian could focus again, Bull was looking at him with his eye wide, a startled expression on his face. He was suddenly too far away. Dorian reached for him and wrapped his arms around him, the best he could.

They lay on the bed with golden sunlight shining down on them through the high window. There was no more talking. Dorian ran his fingers along the scars on Bull’s chest, breathed in his scent. Eventually Dorian fell asleep, with Bull’s fingers stroking his hair.

  


*

  



	13. Chapter 13

Isabela’s contacts eventually managed to find a seer sympathetic to Anders’ situation. She arrived with her two apprentices. They were both young, robust looking women who smiled kindly at everyone. The seer, already an old woman, did not smile, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. Without making any particular preparations, they barricaded themselves in the clinic with Anders.

“What do you figure they’ll be doing in there?” asked Ferret. She and Dorian were staring at the clinic door, trying to decide how they felt about the situation.

“I truly do not know. The seers are not jealous of their craft, but their skills go underappreciated outside Rivain. I have no real understanding of their practices.”

“Yeah? Just like that, you say there’s magic stuff you don’t get?”

Dorian looked at her, surprised.

“Certainly? My education has been comprehensive, but the arcane mysteries are endless. No-one can claim to know it all. Me least of all, I am barely thirty. The seer has decades of dedicated study on me.”

Ferret kept looking at him.

“Alright. Do you think they can do… whatever it is you’re hoping they’ll do? To help Anders?”

“I don’t know that, either. I should hope so. I do not think Anders’ situation is as difficult or unique as he believes.”

“Yeah, the dude’s fucked up, spirits or no. I know the type.”

Dorian frowned at Ferret.

“I will not have you slander him. He is my friend and life has not been kind to him.”

Ferret held up her hands.

“Hey, no. Didn’t mean it like that. He’s a good guy. I just know the type. Doesn't know if he's coming or going. Lots of people here who’ve gone through shit. I hope those ladies can help him.”

Dorian nodded, placated. He looked at Ferret’s cut ear. She must indeed know.

Ferret dragged Dorian away for a session of friendly sparring. They fought using only wooden sticks wrapped in soft cloth. After they finished, and Dorian was sitting panting on the ground, he dearly wished Anders would soon be available for healing. That’s where the Iron Bull found him.

“That was nice of you, letting Ferret beat you up.”

Dorian groaned.

“Yes, that is exactly what happened, I let her mug me out of the goodness of my heart. Kindly help me up so I can limp to the stream and wash myself. If I’m lucky I’ll drown, and I don’t have to deal with the bruises tomorrow.”

Bull held out a hand, and Dorian took it. Bull pulled him up, and they ended up standing very close to one another.

“Hmm. You smell nice. I watched you spar, you know. Hot. You did well even without magic.”

Dorian had a sudden, inexplicable impulse to hide from Bull. He ignored it and stood his ground.

“Well thank you. I’m glad getting my arse kicked by a tiny elf made someone happy. Now, let me go wash myself before I attract any more admirers. Horseflies, particularly. Or that raven that was flying about. I think it mistook me for carrion.”

“I’ll do you one better. Follow me.”

Dorian let Bull lead him to building with big, wooden bathtubs. Dorian knew of the building’s existence but had preferred to use the wash stand in his own quarters, or wash up in the stream. Bull locked the door. He made Dorian get into the cool water without heating it up first.

“Cold first, then hot. Good for the muscles. You can warm it up now.”

Bull sat on a stool beside the tub and rubbed Dorian’s skin with a washcloth. Dorian didn’t have it in him to protest even when Bull washed his hair, mussing it up. The water was quickly warming around him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. After Bull finished washing him, he bent to kiss Dorian’s forehead.

“Come on. There’s dinner in the main house.”

Dorian groaned.

“Couldn't we eat in your room? I feel like falling asleep.”

Bull didn’t have anything against that. He left for the main house in search of food, while Dorian got dressed and went to Bull’s room to wait. They ate in companionable silence. Then they lounged on the bed, talking. Bull told him horror stories about the Southern winters that Dorian refused to believe. There was a peculiar ease between them. Dorian was locked out of his quarters, locked out of his whole country, even, but right at this moment he did not terribly mind.

Dorian fell asleep, and only remembered to worry about Anders in the morning.

  


*

  


When he went looking for Anders, he only found the seer and her apprentices, sitting at the clinic, reading. Dorian wondered if they had slept there.

“Your friend went walking,” said the tall apprentice. She reminded Dorian of Mae, not least because the savvy tone of her voice. “They have a lot to talk about.”

“They?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. They’ll sort everything out. They are great friends, after all.”

That was all the women had to say about Anders, and Dorian did not press the issue. The women returned to their reading. Dorian cleaned up around the clinic and re-wrote some of Anders’ potion making instructions. The man had an atrocious handwriting. Then an idea struck him, and he excused himself. After some moments, he returned with the young mages he was supposed to be instructing. They brought cakes and tea with them. Dorian had to use the full force of his considerable charm, but he managed to persuade the seer into talking with the young mages. She guided them through the basics of magical practices in Rivaini culture. It was very informational for Dorian as well, and with the seer’s permission, he took notes.

Around lunch time, the young mages escorted their Rivaini guests to the main house. Not long after Anders appeared, looking exhausted but smiling. Had he been out all night?

“I think I deserve a hug from a strapping youth. Please provide,” Anders declared.

“I am not younger than you,” Dorian protested, but that didn’t stop Anders from wrapping his long arms around Dorian. Dorian wondered if he had been hugged this much in his whole life in Tevinter.

“I take it the seer had some good advice, then?”

Anders laughed into Dorian’s neck.

“Yes, and more. She has a spirit of Clarity in her. They just reached in and talked to him. Untangled things.”

There was a lot there that Dorian would want to ask about, but that was not for now.

“How do you feel?” he asked instead. Anders was not letting go, so Dorian rubbed circles into his back.

“Like myself. I feel like myself. Only, not like I was. It’s been years, after all. But we have some distance now, enough that we can speak to each other. I’ve missed that. I’ve missed him. I’ve wanted to explain things to him.”

“And… is he alright? Justice?”

“Yes. He’s… he’s proud of what we’ve done. He likes it here. This place is full of people who are trying to do the right thing. And he likes you, you know. He said there’s an integrity to you that more people should aspire to.”

Dorian didn’t know what to say to that. He was glad Anders couldn’t see his face. A spirit of Justice thought that about him?

“Thank you, Dorian. If not for you I don’t know if I’d… just, thank you.”

They were still hugging when one of the young mages returned with a lunch tray.

  


*


	14. Chapter 14

The stream of messengers sneaking in and out of the farm seemed to speed up. Dorian doubted he even noticed them all. The mood of the farm was charged, but in a positive sort of way. Something must be happening with the resistance that Dorian was not privy to. Anders was also in a cheerful mood but seemed to value his solitude. Dorian supposed he was conversing with his spirit. Dorian spent his mornings teaching the young mages and his days sparring with whoever was willing to go against him, or walking in the woods around the farm with the pretense of gathering herbs. His evenings he spent with the Iron Bull.

They fucked most nights, certainly, but not always. Sometimes they just sat in Bull’s bedroom, talking, or went to play cards with the Chargers. He often slept through the night pressed against Bull, not minding the heat. It was just practical. Anders was up at odd hours, floundering about with his blue spirit light, keeping Dorian awake. Bull's solid, comforting presence anchored Dorian to the present and kept him from floating into the Fade and the nightmares there. Dorian tried not to think about it overmuch.

*

Another messenger must have arrived unnoticed by Dorian, because one evening he and Anders were called into council with most of the Chargers. Isabela was standing in the middle of the room next to Ferret. Both women were grinning. Fenris sat slumped in a chair in a corner behind them, his hair obscuring his face. The Iron Bull and Krem were leaning against the wall next to him.

“Right!” said Isabela. “Gentlefolk and ruffians alike, we have received a message. Two messages, in fact. Krem, if you would do the honors.”

Krem cleared his throat, took out a scroll, and started reading.

“Let it be known all across Thedas, that Her Perfection, the Most Holy Divine Justinia, has in her immeasurable wisdom and through her piousness…”

“Aah! Get on with it!” snapped Ferret.

“Alright, fine!” said Krem, laughing. “Justinia has dismantled the Templar order. And the other missive says that Empress Celene has formed an alliance with the King of Ferelden, concerning the establishment of a council for elven affairs. In short, things went according to plan.”

Anders and Dorian stared.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Isabela said, “that the mages are free. It also means that the elves don’t have to shank everyone.”

“Briala’s going to be the boss of the elven council, and Fiona’s going to be the boss of mages,” said Ferret.

There was a whooping among the Chargers.

“Surely it cannot be that simple,” Dorian said, astonished. “What are the mages to do? Will they return to their Circles? They will certainly not want to. And the elves! A council sounds lovely, but what difference will that make to an elf living in poverty in an alienage?”

“Nah, it’s not simple at all,” said Bull, still leaning against the wall. “But there’s a lot you don’t know. Trust me when I say, these missives are just the frosting on the cake. The cake is armed to the teeth, full of our people, exactly where we want them.”

“We have them by the balls,” affirmed Ferret.

A raven croaked from the rafters, startling Dorian. A blue glow was emitting from Anders, who was smiling with his eyes wide.

*

Things were strange after that. Anders spent his waking moments writing letters and drafting out plans for the infrastructure needed to replace the fallen Circles. Dorian answered his questions about the Circles of Tevinter to the best of his ability, but eventually he had to prioritize his own sanity and leave Anders to his own devices. Isabela and Fenris had left the farm to do whatever it was victorious rebel leaders did in times like these. Only the Chargers remained as they had been. Bull informed Dorian that while the most critical phase of the operation had been a success, the risk of violent incidents was now higher than ever. Renegade Templars were roaming the countryside. The lower tiers of the elven resistance were on edge, since they found it difficult to trust humans and their promises. So the Chargers stayed on guard.

“What would you do, if you didn’t have to worry about shit?” asked Bull. They were sitting by the creek, in the same spot where Dorian had first kissed Bull.

“What shit is that? Tevinter shit? The blood magic, the slavery? My personal family shit? Or the overall Southern shit with the mages and the elves and the Tal-Vashoth mercenaries with unreasonably girded… arms?”

Bull laughed.

“Take your pick. It was a serious question.”

Dorian sighed and thought about it for a moment.

“If I was free from all of this, I would like to continue my research. It might surprise you to learn that I am not, in fact, very attracted to all this rural living. I am exceptional both as a caster and as a scholar. I hope to find some way to utilize that.”

Bull squeezed his hand. It was a sweet gesture, absurd from a man like the Iron Bull.

“And you? Are you content in your role as the guardian of a remote Antivan farm? How long until your Chargers start a mutiny of their own, out of sheer boredom?”

“It’s been good. My guys needed a break. You’re right, though. I don’t think we’ll stay on for long.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“You know,” Dorian said eventually, “whatever Fiona and her people come up with, the mages will still need places of education. It occurs to me that now that the Templars are done away with, those places will need protection. Not from demons, that is a matter best left for the mages themselves to handle. But from common bandits looking for loot and from whatever rabble that might take offense to the existence of mages.”

“What’s your point, then?”

“Don’t be thick. Guarding an institution like that would be an excellent job for an aging mercenary with a bad knee, don’t you agree?”

“Hey, who’re you calling aging?” Bull bumped Dorian with his arm, gently.

“It also occurs to me, that any institution with the purpose of providing magical education, would greatly benefit from the presence of an accomplished scholar with vast international experience and an exceptional amount of personal charisma. Somewhere warm, of course. Antiva, possibly, or Nevarra. Perhaps not the Free Marches.”

“Yeah?” There was an odd note to Bull’s voice. “You’d like that? To stick around?”

Dorian took a deep breath. A trusted source had once called him a man of integrity.

“Yes. I do not know how things will work themselves out. I do know that I want you to be there when they do. I wish to stay by your side, if you’ll have me.”

Bull turned to Dorian and touched his hand to Dorian’s face. He looked very serious. Dorian felt his breath catch, nervous.

“Yeah, Dorian. I want it to be like that.”

Dorian exhaled. He covered Bull’s hand with his own and kissed his scarred fingers.

  


*


End file.
